Phage
by angato
Summary: An invasion by a foreign people often leads to further complications for the invaded. A strange pathogen begins spreading outward from New York, creating the very real possibility of a worldwide, deadly pandemic. All characters featured along with an OC. No non-canon pairings.
1. Spread

_I would recommend reading my first story, Quicksilver, if only to understand the relationship dynamics in this story, as well as what the heck the characters are talking about in a lot of scenes. This story continues about a year and a half after Quicksilver._

_This is based exclusively on movieverse (and comicverse), prior to Thor 2 and the other movies which follow, and I hope to feature brothers, family and friends._

* * *

The first case was an elderly woman with seven grandchildren. There were enough people in her family that the hospital room was crowded for several days in between treatments, blood transfusions and oxygen tanks. Each of her three children stood vigil by her bedside for days at a time, and her grandchildren stopped in as they were able to between work, or school, or whatever other activities they indulged in.

The symptoms were startling. It started as what she quaintly called a "case of the sniffles" and escalated into full-blown flu symptoms. Lung tissue necrosis began soon after, and within days she could not stop coughing a pint of blood a day. Near the end, the hospital forced the family from the room in order to keep her in isolation and prevent the spread of the unknown disease.

She died on the twelfth day.

One of her youngest grandsons showed symptoms next, and the parents rushed him into the hospital at the first signs of a cold, terrified of losing him to the same disease as his grandmother. Within a week, another funeral was scheduled.

The disease spread silently through the family, and then outward into the hospital population. It hit the local newspapers when the victim count hit seven, and the national papers when the count hit thirteen. Public perception veered from outright panic to apathy at this latest in a series of strangely named illnesses which the media so loved to latch onto. More than one pundit insisted that the worries were overblown, overhyped, downright stupid. Political motivations were assigned at times, and the CDC released a softly worded statement urging residents of New York and nearby cities to report signs of flu-like symptoms immediately.

All the while, the strain transferred quietly. Its method of dispersal was unknown, as were its origins; it could not be grown inside of a lab using known techniques. Isolating the culprit proved challenging, and in the end a lung tissue sample was removed from a victim and analyzed under an electron scanning microscope. The foreign entity was located lining the entire surface of a red blood cell. The description within the final report read "alien in appearance."

Media outlets coined a gimmick name: the Ridley virus. The name was repeated often enough that it became the accepted common term for this new strain.

The CDC convened an advisory board, which recommended that a higher authority be involved due to the apparent nature of the pathogen. Forty six days after the first recorded case, a black file was placed on SHIELD director Nick Fury's desk, the words _Top Priority_ emblazoned in white across the folder. He returned to his office three hours later and took up the file, reading through the information and pulling up further reports on his terminal. Then he placed a call to someone with unlimited resources and a newfound conscious too big for his projects to sustain.

When Tony answered the phone, Fury explained everything that he could understand. When he was finished pleading his case and requesting assistance, the inventor waited a moment before giving his reply.

"I got someone for you. She's impressionable, young and backed by my investments. That cover it?"

"That'll do," Fury said. "I'll send the data over."

* * *

"Thor?"

"I am here, Jane."

"Just checking," she said. Her tone was absent, nearly dismissive, and Thor looked up from his task to observe her. Jane had her head down, nearly close enough to sniff the notebook she carried on her person at all times. She was working at a small, cluttered desk, not ignoring him, and the thunderer only chuckled to himself before looking back down. He gripped Mjolnir tightly in his right fist and gently struck the metal lying atop the bench, carefully shaping the form he desired.

"What are you working on?" she asked. She raised one hand and pushed a long string of dangling hair behind one earlobe.

"Come and see," he said. Jane hummed a noncommittal noise and continued to scratch her pen against the notebook. Thor waited patiently, and sure enough, after several seconds she raised her head to look at him.

"What?"

"Come see, and tell me your thoughts." Thor lifted himself to standing from the bench, stretching himself to his full height with a slight grunt. Jane stood from her own workbench and approached him, looking down at his project with bright curiosity.

"What is it?"

"It is a blade for an _atgeirr, _a traditional Asgardian weapon. I am molding it for Natasha."

"You make weapons?"

Thor lifted Mjolnir. "It can be used to both create and destroy."

"You're making a weapon for Natasha?"

"Yes," Thor said with a smile. "I feel that a spear is suitable for her."

"Why didn't you ask Tony to do it?" Jane leaned closer to the blade. "He can make any weapon you want."

"This is tempered Asgardian metal. I am afraid his tools cannot mold our metals."

"This is from Asgard?" Now he saw _real_ interest in her, and raised his hand to stem the flow of never-ending questions. She drew a column down the center of a new page in her notebook and began jotting notes in her small, messy handwriting. "What's the difference?"

"Midgardian metals are tempered differently." Thor had learned much many ages ago, when Tony first pelted him with questions. "They are not so strong as those found in Asgard."

"Right - he told me about that. He's trying to duplicate the style." She nearly picked up the piece, but Thor stopped her.

"You may cut your hand on the blade."

"How many weapons have you made now?" she asked. "Is this a new hobby?"

"Perhaps," he said. "I find myself wanting to forge more often, now that I have tasted the fires of creation."

Jane laughed. "That's a strange thing to hear, especially when I know you mean _exactly_ what you said."

"I do not mean to say I am superior -"

"Not what I meant." She kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder, moving back to her notebook. "When's your next trip home?"

"Will you come with me?"

That got her attention faster than before. She raised both eyebrows, eyes and mouth wide. Thor continued once she set the pen down, her sign that she was completely focused on him.

"As ambassador on behalf of Midgard. Director Fury has approached me about establishing regular contact, and trade, between our realms. Banner and Tony have made the same requests."

"You want me to be a liaison?" Jane could hardly keep still. "That's a lot of responsibility."

"The ambassador in charge of relations between Midgard and Asgard will be privy to a great well of Asgardian technology, and receive immunity within the realm." Thor took her hands in the hopes of playing to her emotional attachment to him. "There is only one mortal whom I would trust with such information."

"Stop playing me," she scolded, and drew her hands away. "This is big, Thor - this is _huge_. We'd have to clear it with Fury -"

"I have already done so."

"Tony will want to come along at least once," she said. "He'll _insist._"

"Tony Stark is not my choice," Thor said. "He is not nearly so composed, and I do not trust his behavior in my mother's presence."

"Or anyone else's," Jane said. She sighed and leaned her elbow against the table, bracing her chin. "I'll need a few days to think this one over. This is a lot of...everything and I just need to think."

"It will also help in your pursuit of the machine you are working on."

Jane glanced at her notebook, chewing on her bottom lip. "That's true. Tony didn't set a deadline, but there's a lot of theory I don't have right now that Asgard might."

Thor could see that her thoughts were spinning in a direction which favored him, and reached for her. She settled easily into his lap, the position so habitual that she continued to pick at her fingernails while she considered her options.

"And," she continued, "you mentioned immunity. That could come in handy."

"Aye," he said, feeling distracted from the topic at hand. Jane flicked his nose and he laughed.

"Focus," she said, "this is serious!"

"Of course, Lady Jane."

She laughed and kissed him.

"That's better," she said.

* * *

Tony hated suits. He continuously adjusted his tie until he finally gave up and removed it, rolling it into a wad which he jammed into his coat pocket. He strolled across the parking lot of the Stark Industries Atlanta facility, the large logo a beacon for all to see his staked claim in the city. He wanted to move further south, closer to the research triangle, but the reason for this facility had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that she had no intention of leaving this city because someone else had decided for her.

Considering the one past similarity they shared, he had to respect that.

As he stepped through the doors, a receptionist waved from the front desk, a wide smile breaking across her features. She stood and he looked her over, not bothering with subtlety. When he was satisfied that she was exactly what he wanted greeting him every time he walked through these doors, he smiled at her and removed his sunglasses.

"How can I help you, Mr. Stark?" she asked. She wasn't trying for subtlety either; her eyelashes fluttered so much that he wondered if there was a breeze in the room.

"I'm looking for Lynn," he said. "She in today?"

"Miss Creed is in laboratory three, Mr. Stark." The disembodied voice made the receptionist jump; Tony smiled and winked at her.

"Thanks, JARV," he said, and started for the main doors.

"I'm afraid I can't let you enter without proper ID, Mr. Stark." The receptionist was still smiling. "It's against our security policy."

"I wrote that policy -"

"Actually, Miss Potts wrote the policy," JARVIS offered. Tony began approaching the desk, the same smile plastered on _his _face.

"- and I own this building. I own this property. I own every office supply you use every day, sitting at the desk I also own." Tony laid both hands on the receptionist's counter. His smile never wavered. "So let me inside."

"I'm afraid I can't."

The door to the left of the desk clicked, then swung open. Lynn Creed stood in a pair of tattered jeans and a loose-fitting, plain tank top. She was swarthy and small, her hair tied behind her head in a loose, ill-conceived ponytail. A worn pair of tan loafers covered her feet, though she wore no socks. When she took a step, he could see the tops of her feet and ankles.

"Tony?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"Good grief, kid, you look like college." Tony felt overdressed in his suit as it was; Lynn shuffled from foot to foot self-consciously.

"I didn't expect you today," she said.

"Surprise. Don't tell me you wear those in the lab?" He pointed to her feet, so ill-protected that any spill could coat them instantly. "Don't they teach you anything in that cut-rate school?"

"He's fine, Janice - mark him as my guest," Lynn said to the receptionist. She dutifully marked several lines on a complicated-looking form attached to a clipboard, then offered the form with a pen to Tony.

"Sign here, please, Mr. Stark."

"The hell is this?" Tony lifted a hand, rejecting the offered clipboard. Lynn took it for him and set it on the counter, pointing to where he needed to sign his name.

"Consequences of being affiliated with the government. Here, sign this. She won't let you in otherwise."

"What's she gonna do?" Tony asked. "She one of Nick's?"

"She came recommended by Natasha," Lynn said. Tony relented and signed the form. Janice, still smiling sweetly - as she had been the entire time - offered him a bright red badge which proudly declared VISITOR across the front.

"Please wear this at all times inside the building, Mr. Stark," she said. Lynn swiped her own badge against the electronic sensor, then opened the door and waved him through. As soon as the door shut behind them, he shivered.

"Brr. Romanoff gave us _that_?"

"Only once she heard you were the one asking," Lynn said. Her loafers thwapped awkwardly against the linoleum tiles. She was rubbing her hands together, out of nerve or shame he couldn't tell. Her twitching only got worse when they reached the lab door. She swiped her badge and opened the door, stepping inside first. Loud music blared through the doorway before the lights flickered on.

"Welcome back, Miss Creed," JARVIS said from overhead.

"Thanks, JARVIS. Cut the music, OK?"

The A.I. did so immediately, leaving them in sudden silence. Tony was looking around the bench tops, which only one year ago had been pure black. Now they were partially grayed in areas, some spots showing clear signs of chemical spills that damaged the black tops. Most of the work stations looked used, with various plated samples stacked at precarious angles and bottles labeled as assorted types of media and chemical concoctions.

"You alone today?" he asked. Lynn was hovering a bit, close to the door, and gave in after a few seconds when she realized he wasn't leaving soon. She walked by him toward her station.

"It's a Sunday," she said as she leaned against her bench, where a bucket of ice sat housing six small plastic tubes. "Sometimes people stop in. Today it's just me and Janice. She works a half-day."

"It's three PM."

"She comes in at noon. Neither of us wants to wake up early."

"You make the receptionist come in on Sunday?"

"That's your fault," she said with a sharp look. "Your rules say no one is allowed to be alone here, ever."

"Pepper's rules," he corrected. "I'll talk to her."

"And I don't make her do anything. People stop in all day Saturday and sometimes Sunday, so Janice works the front desk those days."

"What are you working on?" Tony prodded at a PCR machine, which hummed dully in the otherwise quiet of the room.

"Same as always," she said. "My thesis."

"Yeah, well, your thesis is going to have to take a back seat," he said. He pulled one of the rolling lab chairs to himself and sat, clasping his hands. "I have a better project for you."

"I can't stop working on my project," Lynn said. "I want my degree."

"What do you need to work on this for? You already _know_ how it happened."

"But now I need to prove it to everyone else."

Tony shook his head. "Look, origin of life studies is great and all, but this is really important."

"How important?" After she spoke, from overhead, JARVIS said, "It's time."

Lynn put on small rubber gloves, then removed the first tube and added water using a pipette. Tony watched and evaluated her progress in skills. She'd been clumsy her first few weeks, slow and imprecise. Now she could pipette and swap tips while holding an unrelated conversation. He grinned.

"Very. The CDC threw up their hands and asked me to fix it." She paused in her work and looked at him. He sighed. "Well, they asked Fury to fix it, who asked me. Indirect is still direct."

"Yeah, OK," she said while rolling her eyes.

"Anyway, it's up your alley and I want you to take a look."

Lynn reached for a petri dish full of agar and removed the top. "What is it?"

"It's a disease. Deadly. They're calling it the Ridley strain." Lynn stopped at that, turning to look at him. "Yeah, the one from the news. Thing is, it's alien. And I don't mean strange, I mean it looks like we've got a second invasion going on."

Lynn blinked. Tony fidgeted and finally stood, unable to sit still for long.

"You can't be serious. I don't even have my master's yet."

"You got a lab, kid." Tony spread his hands in a grandiose gesture at their stark white surroundings. "High quality, all the latest gadgets - you've arrived."

"Not on paper." Lynn depressed the plunger of her pipette to inoculate the agar and placed the plate onto an automated spinner, which began to operate seconds later. She pressed a flat glass spreader to the agar and let the circular spinning do the spreading for her. "My research is what will earn me the degree, not your gadgets."

"They do help, though."

"Yeah." She couldn't deny it, so she didn't bother. She pressed a button on the side of the spinner; the plate came to a stop, and she capped it before walking across the lab and opening the incubator door. She laid the plate on the shelf and closed the door, then pulled the second tube from the ice and repeated the entire process.

"What do you want, Tony?" she asked. She placed the second plate on the spinner, watching her actions instead of his constant prowling around the facility. "You know you can just tell me to do it. You're my sponsor."

"Maybe I think you deserve a choice."

Lynn laughed. "I guess there's that."

"Yeah - look, kid." He sounded serious, even downplayed. She turned to look him in the eyes, a move which set him back into nervous motion.

"It'll involve SHIELD a lot."

Lynn jolted and shook her head.

"Tony, I can't -"

"They already know about you. File and all."

"Do they know about -"

"Your visits from the fairy hogmonster? No, they don't."

"But they could find out," she said. She'd stopped plating, her fingers drumming against the countertop. "If they find out, we could all be in trouble."

"I can handle trouble."

"Tony -"

"People are dying, Lynn." She looked up from the bench to him, and the haunted, faded look of his eyes made her look away. "They're dying because someone dropped a load of rotting dead aliens on the city."

"It's not your fault," she said. Tony laughed.

"Survivor's guilt is a bitch. C'mon, kid. Fury trusts me, and I trust you."

"I need help," Lynn said, straightening and starting on the final tube. "I need a real PhD in here, someone who can help me think things through." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Know any doctors who might be willing to help?"

"I can wrangle up a few."

"Do it fast," Lynn said. "The news says this could go pandemic, fast - if SHIELD was called in…"

"JARVIS, get Pepper on the line. We need some research done, fast."

"Yes, sir." The A.I.'s voice was replaced with a ringing noise, which then became Pepper's upbeat tone.

"Tony?" she asked over the speakers.

"Hey, Pep. Got a favor to ask."

They discussed on the overhead speakers while Lynn continued with her samples. She set the last plate on the spinner as the conversation finished with a list of names already being tossed about.

"Sounds like we're on our way," Tony said with an accomplished smile.

"Then I guess I have no choice," Lynn said quietly. Tony made a slight, strangled noise which she ignored. She put the final plate inside of the incubator and pulled both rubber gloves off of her hands with a quiet _snap_.


	2. Fake

"What's with the red?"

They were sitting at an outdoor cafe table in a shady corner. Tony had pressed for a fancy restaurant, insisting that she give in and "live a little." She ignored him and came to her favorite little hole in the wall.

He'd put on a large pair of sunglasses which concealed enough of his face to keep him from being immediately recognized. Lynn was picking at the remains of a house salad, waiting for the soup she'd ordered to arrive as she sought out each and every candied cranberry from the mix. She saw Tony's hand coming and froze, letting him take down the hackneyed ponytail to pull forward a highlighted strand of bright red hair among the brown.

"What? You don't like it?" She swiped a hand at her hair, pulling it from his fingers.

"It's bright."

She laughed. "Are you saying it's too flashy?"

"I'm just saying, that is a very bright color for you," he said.

Lynn curled her toes inside of her loafers and shrugged.

"And what the hell is this?" Tony waved at her food. "I told you we could go anywhere you wanted. I gave you a blank check. And you get a field of greens."

"I hadn't eaten yet today."

"Like I didn't know."

Lynn made a face. "JARVIS is a tattle tale."

"Yeah. He tells me you're losing weight again."

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm just busy." She found what appeared to be the last cranberry and popped it into her mouth, avoiding looking at his sunglasses.

"God, kid, you sound like an old maid." Tony leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "We have got to get you a life."

"I have a life," she said defensively. "It's a good life."

"I found you in the lab on a Sunday."

"You work in your lab all the time."

"Pepper calls it my cave." Tony huffed indignantly. "She doesn't even say _man_ cave. Just cave."

"I have a life," Lynn repeated. "You don't see it because you're on the other side of the country."

"You know that JARVIS logs your hours, right?" Lynn set her fork down and sighed. "Yeah. So I know how much life you got."

"Is this why you came all the way out here?" Lynn crossed her arms. "To scold me in person?"

"I'm not gonna scold. I'm gonna express concern."

"Are you having nightmares again?" Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. Lynn raised her eyebrows and continued. "I can play this game, too."

"It's not a game, kid." Tony pulled his sunglasses off and squinted at her. "You've got to take care of yourself."

"I'll eat if you will."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Is this blackmail?"

"Looks more like hypocrisy," she said.

"Now wait a second -"

"You didn't even order anything." Lynn uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. "Either set an example or quit nagging me."

"I don't nag," Tony said. "I express concern."

"Looks the same to me," Lynn said. Their waitress hovered several feet away, looking far more nervous than she had thirty minutes ago. "Put your glasses back on, you're scaring the staff."

"I'm on my best behavior," Tony said as he replaced the sunglasses. He beamed at the waitress when she was close enough to justify attention. Her nametag claimed her name was CODY, with a small smiley face sticker stuck just after her name. "Hey, sweetheart. How about a nice big fat steak for my friend here?"

"Tony -"

"We don't serve steak," Cody Smiley Face said. "I'm sorry, but are you -"

"Then get us whatever's the most expensive."

"We'll take two," Lynn added. Tony tilted his head at her, but didn't protest. She smiled.

"Yeah," he said to Cody Smiley Face. "I'm setting an example."

"And yes, he is," Lynn added more quietly. A sudden rush of red flooded the waitress' neck and cheeks.

"Oh my God," she said.

"Don't," Tony said, a little plaintively. Lynn waved her hand under her throat and the waitress took several deep breaths.

"Ok. Ok. I'm going to. Go put in your order," she said.

"Thank you, Cody," Lynn said.

"It's not easy having green," Tony said as she walked away. "If she tells the owner, we're done for."

"Do you want to leave?"

"I can handle it." He was gearing up for an audience. When he smiled at her, there was a leer which hadn't been there before. She saw her face reflected in his glasses.

Lynn stood and picked up her purse, a canvas cross-body which she slipped over her head.

"Hey, wait -"

"I can't handle when you're like this," she said. She could barely push the words past her tight throat. "I'm going."

"I'm done," Tony said, pulling off the glasses. He raised his hands. "See? I'm back."

Lynn paused, one hand gripped around the strap of her bag. Tony kept his hands raised.

"C'mon, kid, sit."

"I don't think I want to." Lynn unzipped the top of her bag and felt around inside. Various papers and receipts rustled under her fingers, until she produced a wrinkled ten dollar bill. She set the bill on the table, ignoring Tony's angry scowl.

"Now hold on -"

"No," she said. "You don't get to buy my life."

"That's not the point!" Tony was sitting up straight now, waving the bill at her. "Take it back."

"I'm paying for my lunch."

"Your funding is through Stark Industries."

"Yes?"

His voice raised in his annoyance. He flipped the bill at her; it fluttered through the air and fell against the tabletop, stuck against the wet side of a glass. "You're paying me with my own money!"

"Circle of life," she said, and walked away from him.

* * *

Sif found that she preferred traveling through the Bifrost. The Tesseract was gentle, its path a simple phasing from one space to another with little transition. On the bridge, she _felt_ herself moving across the miles, the heady rush of colors and power surrounding her until she was placed, indelicately, on the ground once more.

The finality of the journey appealed to her. She was a forthright person, and appreciated the relative honesty of the Bifrost. One could be ripped, screaming, from where they stood, only to be tossed into a new location. The quiet moment of _why_ which preceded each of her journeys was amplified for one terrifying moment until she stood once again on a solid surface and she could push her thoughts away. Each time she arrived to look about her surroundings, _why_ faded until it was the barest wisp of a memory, replaced by certainty and resolution. Her travels to Midgard served a higher purpose, and for this she could withstand the Bifrost. When her feet touched ground at the end of a long journey, she felt accomplished, as though a battle had been fought and won.

And in these strange times, when the bridge closed behind her, stranding her in whatever location Heimdall chose, she was greeted by friends.

"Hail, Barton," she said when the world was revealed, raising her hand in the customary Midgardian greeting. She stood at the top of the aircraft carrier which SHIELD commanded, the ocean surrounding them on all sides. "How do you fare?"

Barton produced a small smile and waved in return, walking forward to greet her. He was looking down at the crates near her feet, and the smile became wider when he poked one with his booted toe.

"More presents?" he asked. Sif nodded. "Good. Natasha's been missing the sputterstones."

"I brought them, as requested, and a few of our other weapons which I thought you all might find appealing." Sif was looking behind him across the carrier, watching for any other arrivals. Clint leaned down to hoist up a crate.

"He's on mission with Natasha," he said. Sif nodded and crouched, prying open the box closest to her feet with her bare hands.

"Wait, and come see this weapon. Fandral thought you might be taken with it." While Clint set the crate back on the concrete, she lifted out a curved wooden bow with sharp turns at the ends, similar to a large hook. In the center of the bow was a coil of sinew, which she unwound and strung through one end of the bow.

"I think I can figure it out," Clint said. Sif smiled and continued without comment. She wrapped the sinew over the hook, rather than dipping straight down to attach to the other end. Clint raised his eyebrows when she pulled the bowstring tight, forcing the hook to flex outward until it pointed straight. She then strung the bottom, repeating the movements until the bow resembled a more traditional design, the hooks now stretched into a straight line due to the tension of the sinew.

She offered the bow to Clint, who had bent down while she worked to take up one of the arrows lying in the crate. He knocked the arrow against the string and drew back, his muscles bulging at the effort needed to draw an Asgardian bow. He aimed slowly, his arm steady, and exhaled before releasing the arrow. The recoil was powerful enough that he shook his arm, hissing at the idle pain of being taken by surprise. The arrow was lodged firmly into the concrete ground no more than twenty paces away. Clint flexed his fingers, working them until the twinge in the muscles eased, and looked at her.

"It is a húnbogi," Sif said, smiling at Barton's bright interest. "Not so mechanical as your own, but with great range and power."

"Tell Fandral he's my new best friend," Clint said with little inflection. Sif laughed, understanding his dry wit, and agreed to his terms. Together, they began moving the crates from the deck one at a time. On the second trip several SHIELD agents approached and offered to help, and soon the ten cartons were moved to the interior of the helicarrier. All were transported to the munitions center, where Sif began to both remove and sort Asgard's contributions to Midgard. Clint alternated between helping and asking questions about what she displayed, even asking for a brief demonstration of a more intriguing gadget.

"She's not your personal sideshow, Agent Barton," Fury snapped out as he entered the room. "Sif, my apologies." Fury's deep voice was tinged with annoyance, and he shot Barton an angry glance. "I told Agent Barton to inform me the moment you arrived."

"It is alright, Director," Sif said. "I believe Agent Barton wanted to be the first to lay claim to any items he took to."

"Damn right," Barton said, and grinned as he hefted a dagger. "Last time we didn't get dibs on _anything_." He picked up a bag which jingled pleasantly and poured several native Asgardian coins into his palm. "Don't let Stark get his hands on these, he'll melt them down."

"I believe that was the intention," Sif said, and Clint creased his brow. "He requested metals which might bend to his attempted manipulations. The blacksmith Thor consulted suggested that our coins might present a weaker structure, and therefore be more malleable."

"Oh," Clint said.

"Sif, your quarters are ready when you like," Fury said. "Dr. Foster would also like to speak with you, when you have a moment. Agent Barton will escort you."

Sif bowed slightly to the mortal, who returned the gesture before leaving again. She looked to Barton, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"No time like the present," he said, and led the way.

* * *

Despite her annoyance with the man, Lynn couldn't help a pang of belated guilt when she arrived home and stepped into the nicest home she'd ever had, furnished by Tony Stark and his bottomless piles of money.

Constant music filled her apartment regardless of her presence or absence. Lynn preferred it that way - the knowledge that no matter where she was, her apartment was always filled with sound. She couldn't stand the quiet anymore. She didn't like what she heard when nothing was there to distract her.

The Ridley disease, whatever it was, was spreading.

_People are dying._

Lynn had kept her hair in the ragtag ponytail, the red highlights giving her head an added dollop of color in any light. She was busy flossing and ignoring her rumbling stomach simultaneously, uninterested in eating only to have to repeat this process again. She clicked her teeth three times in quick succession and smiled at herself in the mirror. She winked at herself, and felt like an idiot for it.

_Survivor's guilt is a bitch._

She slid a long-sleeved fishnet shirt over her head, her thumbs slipping inside of holes at the end of each sleeve to hold it in place. A solid green tank top followed. Black leggings stretched from her ankles to her hips; a plaid skirt draped down to her knees, and brown boots with thick buckles covered her legs to mid-calf.

_I can handle trouble._

She wore no make-up, and looking in the mirror, she did not recognize herself. She reached for the only necklace she owned and latched the clasp behind her neck. The thick gold pendant hung in the space between her breasts and the hollow of her neck, a set of ornate designs curving across the surface. Next she inserted the earpiece, which rested inside of her ear perfectly. She shook her head hard, once, to test and make sure she had succeeded in placing it correctly. Then, quietly, she spoke.

"JARVIS?"

"Miss Creed?"

"What do you say when Tony asks where I am?"

"That you are out having the life he insists you do not have."

She grinned. "That's exactly right."

"You realize that his presence may become more common, now that you will be working on a project at his request."

"Yeah." Lynn clomped one booted foot against her coffee table and fiddled with the top, where a section had folded under and started poking hard enough to bruise. "Can you warn me?"

"Only when I am linked to the central server," JARVIS said. "I cannot access the data network while housed within the pendant."

"There's a lot I'll give up because Tony asks me to," Lynn said. She leaned forward, forearm lying across her bent thigh. "You know why. But he doesn't get my Sundays."

"Would you like to start a new file?"

"Sure," she said. "Call it Ridley V. And add a note to my thesis questions: ask what it smelled like."

"Done," JARVIS said, and she grinned. Through patience and insistence, she had broken the A.I. of the constant "Miss Creeds," and their conversations were more relaxed because of it.

_Then I guess I have no choice._

Lynn picked up her guitar case, now equipped with a strap which she hung on one shoulder, and left her apartment. The JARVIS left behind inside of the walls of the apartment locked the door behind her and turned out the lights.

* * *

Sif stepped into Jane Foster's presence with a demeanor of restrained hostility. The woman's relative frailty grated on her endlessly; where Natasha, despite her humanity, exuded confidence and strength, this tiny woman of Thor's only gave the impression of frazzled nerves. Her thoughts were forever scattered as debris in the wind, and Sif found conversations with her challenging and often frustrating.

She remembered a time, so long ago, when she had enjoyed this woman's presence, if quietly resented her existence as Thor's mortal beau. She still felt some of that same resentment, though dampened now with memories of a more fond nature to distract her from her previously held affections for Thor.

Yet Thor was still her friend, and she could not help evaluating the woman of his choosing. In truth the choice mattered little; Thor's interest could be stronger than stone, yet Jane's mortal heart was not, and within less than a century her body would succumb to the mortal coil. Sif worried not for Thor's present, where he appeared content to live a simple life with this human, but for his future, where she would no longer be alive. In the end, Thor's future held many more centuries alone than it did with Jane Foster, and Sif regretted that her friend had so doomed his heart to failure.

"Sif!" Jane cried the moment she spotted the tall warrior, who smiled in greeting and stepped further inside the room. A pile of parchments covered the desks surrounding Jane, and two separate screens flashed data intermittently.

"Hello, Jane," Sif said, and clasped Jane's hand in the familiar Midgardian fashion. "Director Fury said that you wanted to speak with me."

"Yeah," Jane said, clearing a stool to allow Sif to sit. When she did, the seat protested with a heavy creak. "I have some advice to ask."

Sif clasped her hands and leaned forward, the closest to a crouch which this awkward stool allowed her. She dreaded the topic to come, fearing that Jane might ask her for counsel involving her relationship with Thor. Beyond being his friend first, and therefore having her loyalty squarely faced in his direction, she was inexperienced at such conversations. She had always preferred to keep the company of men to women, and though she knew that such talks occurred, she had never engaged in one herself and was uncertain of how to proceed.

Her chest tight with foreboding, she nodded at Jane to indicate that she was ready to hear the request. Jane squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and said:

"Thor's asked me to be a liaison between Asgard and home. I've never done anything political, and he's too certain I'll manage to be helpful." She looked so plaintive, and lost. "Can you teach me how to act and dress properly for Asgardian court?"

A long moment passed. A second. Sif blinked and leaned away, crossing her arms instead to maintain her balance. Jane began to look worried, until Sif produced an honest, open smile.

"Yes," she said to Jane's relieved expression. "That is something I can certainly do."

* * *

Lynn liked the noise, and she liked the activity, and she liked the _life_ which filled the Earl. Before she was even within sight of the place, she could hear the sounds of an active nightlife, and breathed in the scent of a crowd.

_People are dying_.

She handed her guitar over to the first employee who approached her and searched the faces closest to the stage. When she spotted the one she wanted, she broke into a grin and sidled to his side. He had his back facing her; she grabbed his plaid sleeve and pulled gently to get his attention. He turned mid-sentenced and laughed when he saw her, wrapping her in a one-armed hug.

"Look who made it," he said with an easy smile. "How's things?"

_Survivor's guilt is a bitch._

"Things are things," she said. He let her go and waved to the bartender, motioning with one hand to indicate a bottled drink, then pointing to Lynn. The tender nodded and turned to crack a beer, which was slowly funneled through the crowd in her general direction.

"I haven't eaten much today, Brent," she said as the bottle ended up in her hand. She shot him an annoyed, humored look.

"That's pure protein in your hand. Drink up, we've got thirty minutes."

She was already sipping; her cheeks flushed with the sudden swell of courage which radiated from her stomach. After half a bottle, she was already dizzy, and Brent was pushing a fried chicken wing into her free hand.

"Eat, Lynn."

"Yep," she said, and ate the beer-battered wing without pause. Thirty minutes became twenty, and then ten, and then she was being pulled along and her guitar was pushed into her hands, tuned and ready to go.

She raised both hands at the crowd, and their energy flowed into her. The sounds pumped in her ears; the high-pitched shriek of feedback made her wince and laugh. Brent stood next to her and grinned as well, his own fist raising as he fed the crowd.

"Ready?" he asked her, shouting above the clamor.

"I'm ready," she said. When she looked at the crowd, there was a leer which hadn't been there before.

* * *

JARVIS spoke softly into her ear due to her flinching away from a higher volume, guiding her home with gentle insistence. It was two, or four, or maybe later and earlier, and Lynn had no idea what time it was when she finally got home and gave up on trying to think of the correct numbers.

"No bright lights," she slurred to JARVIS, forgetting that the pendant was not attached to the apartment. As requested, when the door opened the overheads were barely on, the dim light just outlining the furniture in her way - the JARVIS in the walls knew the day and the time, and knew that this was a time to keep the lights low.

She picked her way through the sparse area, hand against the wall as she giggled at nothing at all. Her pupils were dilated and yet she struggled to see her way, relying on the calm, patient voice in her ear to direct her where she needed to go. She draped the pendant across her bathroom counter and brushed her teeth, as instructed. A quick glance in the mirror made her look away with a quiet snort.

She did not recognize herself.

"I can handle trouble," she muttered, and laughed at her own joke. The voice in the walls suggested that she drink a full glass of water, and she moved toward the kitchen to obey. She picked out a tall plastic cup, aware enough to want to avoid breaking a glass, and filled it to the brim. She brought the cup to her lips, water sloshing over the edges to bead against her wrapped hand, and took a healthy series of swallows. She stopped when it began to hurt, and lowered the glass to stare at the small fishbowl which perched on the windowsill behind her sink. A blue betta with green tips on his fins drifted lazily in the water.

"People are dying," she said to the betta. She wiped the back of one palm against her right eye and sniffed. The air felt heavy, and she realized that someone was behind her a moment before the voice reached her ears.

"Welcome home, Amma Lynn."


	3. Soft Rains

She could have asked him why he was here, or what he wanted, but her eyes were so unfocused that his head looked too large, far larger than needed, and the sight made her cover her mouth to prevent a loud laugh from escaping. As it was, she coughed into her hand noisily, sputtering in her attempt to swallow her own outburst. Loki said nothing. Maybe he wasn't really here. That was possible - it was Sunday, and he never showed up on a Sunday. Sunday was _her_ day.

She looked him up and down, head to toe and back, and said:

"Why do you always wear green?"

And he did, he _always_ wore that color. She'd seen the pictures from Stuttgart. Even when he was trying to blend in, the scarf was green. She had wondered why for months, trying to think of some particular reason without taking the time to look up symbolism in colors. From what she had seen so far, Asgardian men did not change their clothes often. Very unhygienic.

"Why are _you_ wearing green?" he asked. She saw his puffed up pride at tossing the question back at her, a particular trick she used more often than not on him. She thought of not answering, just to make him angry. Loki hated not knowing answers.

He hated being confused even more, and she was loose enough to not care about pissing him off.

"Punk night - well, grunge." She dipped the hand with the glass down, indicating the skirt. "Fake. I like to play pretend."

He wanted to ask, oh how he wanted to. She could see his frustration at not knowing precisely what she meant. It wasn't fair. Normally she would explain with more details, thinking in some odd way that by learning of humans she might make his crimes more real.

_People are dying. That's your fault._

"And it is," she said out loud. "It really, really is."

He had started walking while she thought herself into a circle, and turned when she spoke. She was making less sense than usual. Guilt caught up to her, and she realized she didn't like confusing him needlessly.

"It's music," she said in belated clarification. He waved a hand at her outfit.

"Pretend. Then all of this is to deceive."

"Sure," she said hazily while she took another sip. The water was helping to clear her head, slowly. She giggled.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked. He had the nerve to sound annoyed with her, and she couldn't help herself - she laughed at him.

"I'm happy," she said. She winked and took another sloshing drink of her water. It was cold where it soaked through her shirt. "You've never seen it. Don't be sad; it only happens when I…" She raised her free hand and tilted it toward her mouth, thumb poking her lips.

"I see," he said. He was lying. She didn't care.

_The British gave natives blankets, all covered in small pox. It was on purpose. Did he do it on purpose?_

"People are dying," Lynn said. Loki raised both eyebrows.

"I imagine that is true. Your species spends more time dead than alive."

"And it's your fault." She wasn't happy anymore. A sudden fog of melancholy settled over her. The water was no longer helping; she set the glass in the sink and washed her hands.

"Dare I ask how you have decided that it is my fault?" he asked. She could hear that he was behind her, close enough to hear the rustle of his clothes. She stepped to the side and opened her refrigerator. "You sound very sure."

"Your friends left us a present," she said as she pulled the egg carton out, along with a package of bacon. "It's spreading through New York. It's a killer. Fast, too." She set the carton and bacon on the counter, then reached to pull a pan from underneath and set it on the gas stove. She turned the heat to medium and pulled down a cup, which she began cracking eggs into. A bit of shell fell inside, and she used her finger to try and remove it.

"They're saying it could go pandemic. That would be bad. We don't have anything to fight it off. I'm going to look into it; Tony says labs everywhere are gearing up. We have to hurry."

"What are you talking about?" It sounded like Loki was no longer pacing. She was glad she had his attention.

"Ever been sick?" She glanced at him; he tilted his head at her. She looked back at the pan, sprayed it down with anti-stick spray, and started laying strips of bacon horizontally across the surface. "Didn't think so. We get sick. Really sick. Bad enough to kill us sick. And this thing - it's a killer." It deserved to be mentioned twice.

The bacon popped after a few seconds; she turned the heat down. "There's forty-two confirmed cases. Probably more unconfirmed. If it starts spreading from the city, quarantine might be needed. SHIELD has a whole file about it. Tony sent it to me to look over."

"I am not responsible for this." Lynn turned the bacon. She didn't reply until she removed the bacon and set it on a paper towel, resting on a plate to soak in the grease. She poured the cracked eggs in next, cooking them in the bacon grease.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked as she ladled the eggs onto a fresh plate. "You wanted a kingdom, and you brought the Chitauri here to get it." She picked up three strips of bacon with her tongs and turned to him.

"Now we're dying," she said, holding the plate out to him. He took both plate and fork while watching her, so quiet that she wondered if he were really here. She let got of the plate, expecting it to fall to the ground without a real hand holding it. It hovered in the air instead, held in place by his palm. When had she gotten so brave?

"Did you know?" she asked. She felt so sad, watching him look down at her with a strange, near-offended gaze.

"No," he said quietly. "I did not know."

"Sit and eat," she said, and clicked off the stove.

* * *

Steve and Natasha returned three days after Sif's arrival. She had nearly decided to return to Asgard prior to their arrival, and the news was welcome. She greeted them as they disembarked their flying vessel with a strongly clasped hand, the Midgardian custom. Both of them seemed exhausted; dark circles plagued their eyes, and Natasha excused herself almost immediately to take advantage of bathing, eating and sleeping.

"In that exact order," the assassin assured her before leaving.

Steve managed an honest smile for her despite his fatigue.

"Good to see you, Sif," he said as he clasped her shoulder. "No sparring today. I'm too tired."

"I am not always in need of violence," she said. He smiled and she was glad to see it; his mood was not dark, he merely needed rest. "You are in need of sleep. It would be wise to follow Natasha's example."

"Walk with me," he said. She fell in step beside him and they walked in companionable silence.

"I've missed you," Steve said after a few minutes. "How's home?"

"The realm fares well, though trouble brews from afar."

"Does trouble ever not brew?"

"No," she said warmly, and he raised his eyebrows. "It would be a dull life indeed, should peace truly come to the realms."

"If Asgard needs help, you know you can call on us."

"Why have you not returned to Asgard?" Sif asked. "You have the means."

"I'm needed here," Steve replied.

"But you are not," she said. Steve creased his brow and looked at her. She found a bench at the side of their path and sat, her long limbs folding underneath her. "That is to say, you are not always needed. You are capable of leaving your post at times."

Steve nodded.

"But you will not abandon it regardless."

"I'm needed here," he repeated more quietly. She saw the flicker of his eyes around them, a slight twitch in his bearing. _It's not safe to talk here,_ he said.

"I understand," Sif said. "Shall I leave you to your rest? I can see how tired you are, for all that you would deny it."

He laughed. "It's that obvious?" He offered a hand to help her stand. She knew him well enough to recognize the gesture as courtesy rather than insult.

"You are very like Thor," she said as she took his hand and raised herself. "Too proud to admit your limits, and stubborn too."

"Not nearly as strong, though."

"Perhaps not in body," Sif said. "But there are many times when a pure heart is a greater boon than a sure blow."

Steve looked away, down the hall toward his quarters. She took her leave of him to allow him his thoughts.

* * *

She didn't like to leave someone without food while playing hostess, an old habit of hospitality which she had long given up trying to stop. After things settled, when all of them were feeling less emotionally drained, the Avengers had visited her one by one, and Lynn had cooked for all of them. Any visitor at all triggered the reflex, and she hadn't thought about what she was doing until she was done.

She had forgotten, or at least let herself stop caring. He was sitting at her table eating the food she'd cooked for him, so quiet that she couldn't hear the touch of utensil to plate, and she could not stop thinking to herself: _you are a murderer._

Lynn was analytical, and his crimes were in the past, over a year ago and so distant that she could barely comprehend what he had done. She instead compartmentalized his actions, dissected and isolated them away from the rest of the man until she could only think of his crimes in a distant, unfocused sort of way. He had done terrible things, and his actions had led to hundreds of deaths. All because of him.

But she hadn't _seen_ those crimes. They had not happened to someone she personally knew or cared for, except the heroes who saved the day. They were far away, statistics which held little meaning outside of a number.

Tony had sent her the file on the Ridley strain, which was lying open on the coffee table. She looked over now to see the corner of a glossy picture reflecting the dim overhead light. She'd come to that picture and lost her resolve to continue, setting the file down and hugging herself before leaving it there, exposed.

That was less than a day ago.

She had pushed herself to read past the top of the entry. _Kyle Brogan, age 4._ His parents had rushed him to the hospital as soon as he displayed symptoms, because his grandmother was the first. Only four days later, he died from massive hemorrhaging of his lung tissue. She knew this not because she had read the entire diagnosis, but because underneath the picture of his young face, a picture of his dissected upper body waited. A body too young to be so mangled. Lungs too small to handle the complications of ruptured lung cells.

He had died wrapped in plastics and chemically sterilized fabrics, his parents alien creatures peering at him from behind plastic visors in the hospital's irrelevant attempt to prevent the spread of infection. Not to the parents, but to _him_.

His parents had succumbed soon after. The real spread started from their home, a brownstone close to the original site of attack which had yet to be fully cleaned up. The city had expended a great deal of expense to clean and renovate the pricier venues, the business complexes and office buildings. The residential areas had come next, and were still under construction as the money promised for restoration was slowly leached toward side projects and political favors.

SHIELD sequestered the alien corpses they found. Beyond that, no further attempt was made to fully cleanse the city of their alien invaders. Some spots of purple blood still dotted the landscape where rain couldn't penetrate the concrete, and the various animal scavengers of the city had eaten their fill of the new food source while it lasted.

She knew the pattern of spreading. She had some theories for the _hows_, and the mechanisms which might have played a part. She was ready with a list of questions to answer, hypotheses to test, experiments to begin. But the _why_ of it all haunted her.

It wasn't because of some mutation of an Earth virus, or some new strain of undiscovered native bacteria. No, the reason was sitting at her table, eating so quietly she wanted to scream at him, _you're a murderer, a murderer -_

She cleared her throat and turned away from him. The cooking pan was dirty, the grease caking to the sides. She pulled it from the stove and slid it into the sink. Just before she turned on the water, Loki's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"You are avoiding looking at me."

She paused, considering her options. She was too tired, edging toward hungover, to make up a convincing lie. She shrugged and flipped on the water rather than respond. As she began wiping down the metallic surface, a hand reached from behind and pressed the lever down, cutting the flow of water.

"Look at me, Amma Lynn."

She grabbed a dish rag hanging from a hook next to the sink and wiped her hands. "I'm not sure I can right now."

Hands gently set on her shoulders and turned her; a palm tilted her head up. She looked into his face and all she saw was Kyle Brogan, age 4.

"There," he said with a slight smile. "The difficulty is only within your head."

"You're a murderer," she said. He dropped his hands and tilted his head. There was no outburst, no sudden rush of denials. They both knew it was true.

"It was easier before, when I couldn't see what you've done." She lowered her head and leaned back against the sink. She felt water soaking into her shirt. "I see this. I see what it's doing to these people." A deep breath. "I need a break."

"A break." He sounded uncertain of her meaning. Lynn laughed. Wasn't it obvious?

"Yes. I need you to stay away for a while."

A flash of something like fear crossed his expression. He turned away to begin a slow pacing around her den. The file sat wide open, and she saw the moment he realized what it must be. He paused in his steps, staring down at the young, smiling face of Kyle Brogan, age 4.

Then he continued walking.

"It fascinates me," he said.

"What does?" Lynn was distracted by the sudden shift, and he continued speaking to her curiosity. Baiting her away from her stated intentions.

"I am encouraged by all sides to continue my visits to you," the trickster said while picking up one of her school books. He opened the book randomly and skimmed over the page, eyebrows raising at the images. "Have you not considered why that might be?"

"Because I'm likable. And you could stand to be." Lynn tried to take the book away. Loki simply held it higher than she could reach, and she puffed out a breath of exasperation. "Case in point."

"You are wrong, anyway," he said, and offered her the book. "They think I am being tamed by you, as Jane Foster once tamed Thor."

Lynn shuddered. "We are not a couple."

"No. And of course, I would need to allow it, wouldn't I? To let you inside my head - to allow your moral compass to become my own - how exhausting life would be, if I were so terrified of the slightest sounds."

"Only when I don't expect someone." She slid the book into her book bag and made a mental note to pull it out later. "Besides, Jane didn't change Thor."

"No? He certainly emerged quite scathed from the experience. A mere three days in her enlightening presence and…" Loki trailed off when he saw the expression on Lynn's face. "Whatever is the matter, Amma Lynn?"

"You think it was Jane who changed him?" She was being guided back, slowly, unavoidably. He could see the disgust rising in her again.

"Of course," he said, confused.

"You're wrong." Lynn sat on her couch, hands cupping her elbows in a quietly defensive position. Her ever-present fear grated on him. She was staring at the young boy's face. "It was you."

"My dear, you will need to be more specific." Loki moved to the coffee table before her and sat, blocking her view of the file and its silent reminder. He still towered above her, but without the aid of his natural height, he looked less large and therefore less imposing. Some of the shadows left her eyes at the change, and he leaned forward to complete the image of relaxation. She wasn't fooled, but her eyes were, and for the moment that was enough.

"It was you, Loki. Don't you get that?" Strangely, her voice wavered in housed pain. She felt emotionally attached to this point, which meant it must be related to -

"Family is but a burden, Amma Lynn."

"Only to those who have one." She stood and he remained seated, merely turning where he sat to watch her prowl the room. "Had you ever done anything like that to him? Ever? You betrayed your brother, got him banished and then tried to kill him. You're the reason he changed, Loki. You."

She stopped and stared down at him, watery and shaking with emotion. He lifted his top lip in a sneer in response to her emotional outburst.

"Just because you didn't trust anyone, doesn't mean no one trusted you." So sad, even heartbroken. His attempts to distract her had failed; nothing would sway her now.

"I know what you're trying to do," she said. He already knew this, and so made no comment. "I need you to leave now."

He stood. "No."

She covered her face and took a deep breath through her palms, raising her hands to curl her hair around the fingers. He wondered how many times she had rehearsed this speech, and if it were going as well as she expected.

"I want a chance to look in the mirror and not see someone who just cooked a meal for a mass murderer," she said. Her voice was clipped, tight with pain. She didn't need to look at him to know his temper was rising. "Especially not one who sees nothing wrong with what he's done."

"My whims will not be controlled by a mortal."

"Why are you acting thick?" Lynn's face was twisted with scorn, even disgust. "Is it because I'm saying what you don't want to hear?" He saw wrinkled lines around her eyes. He'd never noticed them before, and he wondered what stresses were aging her prematurely.

"Leave," she said quietly, her voice a cold steel which he had never heard before. When had she become so brave? "Don't make me call them."

He was unaccustomed to rejection from her. His disappointment spiraled down into cruelty, an outburst waiting for an outlet. He wanted to be violent with her, to show her why it was unwise to anger him. He could kill her before she touched the phone, before she even moved for the phone.

Yet she needed no phone, and the walls were listening closely.

Violence veered into maliciousness due to necessity. He bowed low to her, formal and mocking, and the snarl on his face made clear his true emotions.

"Farewell, Amma Lynn."

And he was gone.


	4. Maroon

The observatory had long since been repaired, the Bifrost healing itself with the power of its own energies. Loki stood at the threshold, his mood dark, and considered what the little mortal would do if he finished what he had started so many months before. He had no taste for Midgard any longer, for the desperate clamoring for power and control which so consumed mortal lives. Instead, he wanted to lay waste to the foundations, to turn the Bifrost and its raging furies against the soil and watch the planet burn. And just before the fires of penance touched her, he would appear to her, just once, to laugh in her face as she begged him to stop, pleaded with him to _stop this Loki_ -

"You cannot sway that one so easily," a deep baritone said behind him. Loki turned to regard Heimdall with a blank expression. The warrior stood still, gripping his sword with two broad hands.

"You were not violent with her," the gatekeeper said. Loki turned away again.

"I wanted to be," he admitted to the pedestal in the center of the room. "I boiled with hate." And yet he had not touched her. "What has happened to my fury?"

"You have not been tempered. Sheathed, perhaps - but you are still dangerous."

"Are you so certain?" Loki asked.

"What would you have done, if another mortal had said such things to you?"

The burst of insolent pride made his gaze bleed red; to have felt the fool's throat _crack_ under his palms would have been a mercy too swift. He turned to Heimdall, steady as the stars, and said nothing.

"You see now," the gatekeeper said. He looked away for the first time, toward the opening in front of them where the stars stretched for light years ahead of them. "Would you like me to watch her for you?"

"There was a time when my desires were beyond you," Loki said.

"No," the gatekeeper said. "Only beyond my concern."

"And now you feel _concerned_ for me?" Loki's voice was grating with temper; he needed a target, and with this statement good Heimdall was kind enough to provide one. "Is this pity I hear?"

"No," Heimdall said. Even and sure as ever. Loki hated that he could not spur the man's temper.

"Then what?" he demanded angrily. "Why have you suddenly been overcome with my well-being? Mockery?"

"You are quick to assume that others jest at your expense." Heimdall's fingers seemed to twitch. Loki wondered how badly he wanted to bury the sword inside of the trickster's sternum, hilt-deep to ensure that the injury would never heal in time. Loki began pacing - forever pacing, forever turning an about-face to return the way he had come from. He would never move forward for the circles he ran around his own thoughts.

"It is often true."

"You forget what I have seen."

Loki could not stop, but he could shoot a sharp glance at the gatekeeper as he passed. "And what have you seen?"

"Your unmaking."

"I am as whole as I ever was," Loki said. He stopped now and creased his brow. "I know who I am."

Heimdall watched him, the gold in his irises as unchanging as the rest of him. But gold was a soft metal, unable to withstand a proper forge, and Heimdall was not weak. Brass, instead, seemed to be his strength.

"Yes," Loki said belatedly, speaking once more to the pedestal. They both knew what he wanted; he did not clarify further.

"You are as you have always been," the gatekeeper said. "Volatile."

* * *

The samples arrived under heavy supervision, the official SHIELD carrier a strange addition to the otherwise unassuming lot. Lynn noted the lack of protesters or news reporters when she arrived, and said as much to Dr. Banner when he dismounted the vehicle.

"Top secret and all," he said with a smile. She waited for him to finish cleaning his glasses, fogged with his own nervous sweat, before offering a friendly hug. Behind them, Tony snapped directions at the SHIELD agents, mainly involving potential consequences of damaging his property.

"He's in rare form," Bruce said with a tired, worn-out expression. "He's closed the Tower until this thing is cleared. All of the employees are on paid leave."

"Don't tell me he bought them tickets," she said. Bruce looked apologetic.

"The most popular request was Vegas."

"Well, that's one way to keep them safe." Lynn didn't like that. Tony was trying to help, but he might have inadvertently spread the disease.

"He had them screened before they could leave," Bruce said, and she felt her shoulders relax.

"Did it really need an escort?" She waved her hand at the full arsenal surrounding the building, as though a foreign terrorist were being escorted inside. In a way, it was true.

"According to Nick we're lucky there wasn't an actual army."

"This seems like a terrible compromise."

"It's because I came along," Steve said as he rounded the corner from the back of the truck. Lynn brightened and jogged over to hug him, grinning.

"What, is this a reunion?"

"It should've been," Steve said as he pushed her back by her shoulders. She held still for his inspection, and couldn't help but laugh when he pulled a chunk of bright red hair forward and raised his eyebrows in blatant disapproval.

"Don't act old," she said before he could speak.

"What have you done to your hair?" a heavily accented voice spoke from behind. She leaned to the side to peer around Steve's tall frame and found Sif staring at her with raised eyebrows as well.

"It's weave," Lynn said. "Hair woven into mine. I wanted a change."

"You have taken someone else's hair?" Sif seemed horrified, and Lynn realized how the explanation must sound to someone from a warrior culture.

"Not like that -"

"Stop slacking!" Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder and pointed at the barrels behind him. "Liquid nitrogen," he said to Lynn's raised eyebrows. "Keeps it latent."

"It can survive that?" Bruce asked. Lynn said nothing; apparently Tony hadn't thought to spare the file for anyone else.

"The kid'll fill you in," Tony said. He caught her expression. "What? Teaching's the best way to learn, right? You wanted a PhD, I got you one."

"What?" she asked, and Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tony," he began.

"Nope," Tony said. "Best interview ever."

"There wasn't one!" Bruce looked angry.

"Best kind," Tony said with a nod. "Look, Steve got Sif to help."

Despite the annoyance flitting through the group, they all turned to watch Sif heft one of the nitrogen tanks one-armed. Steve was saying something to her; the two shared a laugh, and Tony huffed.

"Share the joke," he called to them.

"You wouldn't get it," Steve replied. The two soldiers turned as one and made for the glass doors of the facility.

The sudden appearance of hazmat suits made all of them fall silent. The faceless SHIELD agents exited the back of the truck. Only one of them had the actual package, a small, rectangular cardboard box. Yellow and red stickers covered the surface; even from this distance, the light gleamed off of the bright colors.

"This is sure a lot of spectacle," Bruce said.

"I am not wearing one of those things," Lynn said. Tony rounded on her.

"You wear what I pay you to wear."

"Only when I work directly with it," she said. They stared at each other; Tony finally nodded in concession.

"Masks, gloves, and proper damn shoes all other times. Got it?" She nodded. "JARVIS will monitor." Now she looked annoyed. "Deal with it."

Agent Maria Hill approached them from the facility, her face impassive. Tony greeted her with a bright, charming smile; Bruce and Lynn merely watched her join their small conversation.

A gentle tap on Lynn's shoulder turned her around to find Clint cocking his head at her.

"Did anyone _not_ come?" she asked as she hugged him. Maria spoke before Clint could reply.

"The strain is secured inside the facility. We'll monitor the facility for twenty-four hours a day."

"What is this about?" Lynn asked. Bruce seemed on the verge of either a breakdown or a tantrum.

"That's a great question," he said, glaring at Tony.

"Well," Tony began. Agent Hill shook her head and looked from Lynn to Bruce and back.

"There've been terrorist threats to use this thing as a bioweapon."

"Is that a joke?" Lynn's eyes were wide. "They can't mean that. This thing kills _everyone_."

"That doesn't matter to a lot of people," Clint said. "Lynn, walk with me."

They pulled away from the group, Tony and Agent Hill bravely trying to convince Bruce that 24/7 monitoring was not a threat to him, and began a lazy circle. The massive truck in the center provided a convenient central point to focus their path around.

"The threats are pretty serious," Clint said before she could ask. "Fury didn't want to transport it without us. Safety first."

He was watching her, and she was keeping her eyes down, watching her own feet as she walked. She felt goose pimples ripple across her arms under Clint's intensity. She knew what he wanted.

"I told him to stay away for a while," she said quietly. "I guess it's good timing."

Clint visibly relaxed at the news, and she laughed to herself. It made sense to worry, but still, it was funny how blatant the man could be.

"How are you at poker?" she asked.

"Terrible," he said. "I see better from a distance."

"You relax better, too," she said. As they drew further away from the SHIELD crowd, Clint's stride became less braced. "Where's Natasha?"

"Mission," he said. Lynn nodded.

"Twenty-four hour surveillance?"

"I'm rotation four," Clint said. "It's not a set time. I sleep in between."

"And Bruce is here," Lynn said. "Are they really that scared?"

"Fury wanted the Hulk here," Clint said, "but Tony wanted Bruce."

"Comforting," she murmured, and it was. Then, louder, "he really did want babysitters for me."

"He worries," Clint said. He looked her over again. "You've lost weight."

"I'm fine."

"Sleeping ok?"

"I'm _fine_." She huffed angrily. Clint grinned and winked at her.

"Sure you are. One more question." He pulled a lock of bright red hair toward himself. "What's with the hair?"

* * *

Without the ever-present threat of an Asgardian prince stopping in, Lynn found that her level of cleanliness declined until every surface was covered in school and research papers. She managed to keep the floor clean enough, though vacuuming was a chore she hated and put off until the dust balls were too large to ignore.

For this reason, she declined the various offers to come over to her place for dinner that night, instead opting to take Tony up on his original offer and splurge on a fancy dinner. She chose the Cheesecake Factory for both the variety of meals and the size of the portions, mindful of the presence of both Steve and Sif in their dinner party.

They made quite a scene when they entered. Sif was dressed in her normal garb of Asgardian kit; Steve looked like a callback from the fifties, his hair slicked back and a leather bomber jacket covering his torso. Bruce, as ever, looked unassuming, though his face was more recognizable to the general public due to the events in New York. Clint looked strange without his bow, though he kept the black standard outfit. And Tony, of course, was Tony.

Lynn had put on a simple sun dress to match her mood. She felt airy and light, surrounded by company who could both entertain and safeguard her. When she had more than one drink in her, she decided to broach the topic which had troubled her since earlier that afternoon.

"You should have talked this out with Bruce," she said to Tony. The glass full of amber beer in her hand pointed at Tony as she motioned toward him. "It's not fair to force him into this."

The inventor took a long, deliberate bite of his steak as he looked at her. Her pupils were dilated just enough to convince him that now was not the time to argue.

"I'm right here," Bruce said. Tony stabbed his fork into his steak and let it go, the handle wiggling precariously in the air. He turned and set an elbow on the table, giving Bruce his sudden full attention. The smaller man wilted under the focus.

"Bruce, I'd like you to work with Lynn on this," Tony said. Both Lynn and Bruce scowled at him.

"Please," he added.

"We'd feel safer if you were at the lab, Dr. Banner," Steve said from the other end of the table.

"Who are you speaking for, Captain?"

Bruce was annoyed; the use of Steve's title reminded him of his place at SHIELD, an organization which Bruce held little to no affection for. Lynn leaned back in her chair and sighed while Steve squared his jaw. Sif placed her hand on his shoulder, and the moment passed into something more similar to comfortable silence.

"That's settled," Tony said with a wink at her, and Lynn only shook her head.

* * *

"Yep."

_Is it strange that you get these kinds of calls on your phone?_

"That's not really my jive," he says.

_Like, right on there. It could be tapped. _

"It's not tapped." The voice on the phone pauses. "Well?"

_Who would tap that? _

"I'd tap that," he says, and snickers. The voice ignores him and throws out a number. A nice, big, round number with lots of zeroes at the end. He has to admit, it's a good number.

"Not enough," is what he says. "Try again."

The voice protests.

"I have a stylish lifestyle to maintain. You gotta do better." The microwave behind him beeps; his Hot Pocket is done.

_High culture indeed._

"C'mon. Would one more zero really hurt?"

The voice is insistent.

_Wait him out_.

He does. It takes thirty full seconds before the voice concedes.

"Well, that sure is a lot."

_That gets every hooker in the city. Or Broad Bertha twice._

"I don't like her, she's a biter."

_Only when you tip her. Hehe. Tip._

"Yep," he says to the voice in the voice. Then he hears about the jet.

"I'm not taking a jet unless it's private," he says. It is, the voice assures him.

"Then I guess I got no problems," he says, and hangs up.

* * *

She didn't have to keep working. If she asked, Tony would raise her monthly stipend without a word, allowing her to live the life he thought she should. But she liked the peace of normalcy; she liked coming to a set place with a set shift, interacting with people, and leaving. And her boss, Kurt, was forgiving when she had to call out.

She saw how Tony's ordeal had left him skittering into isolation. Lynn didn't want that for herself, and so she needed to practice her social skills. She worked two nights a week at Beans and Leaves and enjoyed coming home smelling like coffee and tea. She enjoyed how Kurt made a point to ask her how she was feeling every shift, and she enjoyed that her coworkers now spoke with her instead of at her. After almost two years, most of the baristas were new, which meant none of them remembered the night she nearly fainted and had to go home. None of them asked her questions about her spell, and whether it could happen again. Kurt only asked if she was alright, and let himself be satisfied with any answer she gave him.

It felt like a life she wouldn't have had before.

Now, as she picked up mugs left by customers, Jane waved to her in greeting as she walked behind the counter to pick up her apron. Jane's shift started in about twenty minutes; she and Lynn overlapped for one hour, to avoid interruptions in coverage. There was no other barista tonight because the third called out sick.

"Con in town?" Jane asked as she looped the long apron strings around her waist once before tying them behind her back. Lynn felt a prickle along her spine.

"It's not my turn," she said. If Loki was here, he had ignored her request to stay away and was meeting her in a public venue to avoid a scene. She felt irritation rising behind her eyelids.

"You asked me to handle Tuxedo Mask the other night. It's only fair," Jane said with a sweet, teasing smile. Lynn sighed dramatically, her expected role, and groaned.

"Fine," she said. "If he's rude, you owe me."

Lynn set the glassware down and wiped her hands on her apron, dreading this encounter. If Loki provoked her, she decided, she would let him have it. Public place or not, she would not let him think he could do whatever he wanted with her emotional pleas. She took a deep breath, mentally braced herself for verbal gymnastics, and peered into the open cafe area to see what she was about to walk into.

It was not Loki.

Relief flooded her, and she sighed with the sudden dip in stress. Quirky Con-goers were easy to handle, so long as they stayed within social boundaries, and this guy didn't look like a hugger.

As she approached him, she had to admit that the outfit was, in a word, ridiculous. He was covered head to toe in his costume; he even had a mask with white dots where his eyes should be, surrounded by giant black circles, and the rest of him was a combination of red, black and weapons.

"Hey babe," he said as he set two very dirty-looking boots on the metal grated table. "What's on the menu?"

"Please don't call me that," Lynn said, and ignored the boots. She clicked her pen and raised her eyebrows. "It's a coffee and tea shop. Sound good?"

"Yeesh." He shook his head. "People still drink this crap? How dull."

"Some people find it relaxing."

"Whatever. Listen, babe -"

"Please don't call me that." She made her voice stronger, less hesitant. He groaned.

"Ugh. Feminism. Fine - doll?" She shook her head. "Darlin'?"

"How about 'Lynn?'" She pointed to her nametag. "It's worked for twenty three years now."

"Damn. Most girls, it's like shitting bricks to get'em to own up a number."

"Age is relative." She put a flat palm against the side of one crossed boot and pushed; both fell to the floor with a loud _thump_. "Feet off the tables, too. It's unsanitary."

"That's a damn big word for 'gross.'"

"Take your pick," she said, and smiled her most professional Business Friendly Smile, reminding herself that she only had an hour left in her shift.

"So," she said after a long pause, "what'll it be?"

"The fruitiest drink ya got."

"How does peach clementine tea with a dash of lemon zest sound?"

"Unsanitary."

"Coming up." She set the ticket on his table and walked away. Behind her, she heard the light _thock_ of boots hitting the table again.

"It's amazing how often you get the creeps," Jane said, shaking her head.

"It's because I humor them. Can you teach me how to stop doing that?"

Jane raised her hands and shook her head. "No! Then they'll flock to all of us." She peered over Lynn's shoulder. "What's he even supposed to be? A bleeding ninja?"

"Do you think the guns are real?" She added. Lynn shook her head.

"They've got stuff written on them."

"So?"

Lynn shrugged, thinking of Tony, Clint and Natasha. "No gun guy I know would write on the thing. My friend goes nuts cleaning when there's fingerprints."

"Must be all the murders," Jane said. Lynn paused and looked at her as though to check if she were joking; Jane was the first to break into laughter.

"What a face," she said. "Know many killers, Lynn?"

Lynn tried to laugh it off. She tried to smile and chuckle, to play like this was a funny joke that she could in no way relate to. In her head, she saw Kyle Brogan, age four.

"I'll make the tea," Jane said after a moment. She patted Lynn's shoulder, sensing that Lynn needed a moment to compose herself, and moved away.

* * *

"Well?"

Lynn watched him take a sip with an exaggerated grimace, more subdued than before. She had to admit that she was impressed he had bothered. It required rolling up the bottom of the mask to reveal some intricate scarring makeup underneath. She wondered why he would bother hiding that if he put in the effort to do it in the first place.

"This is the worst thing I've ever put in my mouth," he said.

_That's what she said._

"Except that," he added. She tilted her head and didn't ask.

_Is she nice?_

"I'm impressed you tried it," she said. She even looked amused. Then, without a word, she pressed her palm to the side of his boots and pushed them off the table. Again.

_Not so nice._

"Can't a guy relax?" He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back, barely noticing the pressure of his sheaths digging into the small of his back. It wasn't like he'd bruise from it.

"Doesn't that hurt?" she asked, pointing her chin at the sheaths.

_Maybe nice._

"If I say yes, will ya pity me?"

Her eyes crinkled. He had reminded her of someone she knew with that comment.

_Hope it's someone she likes._

"Should I care?" he asked. The crinkles left. She blinked and started to look concerned. He knew that look. He _hated_ that look.

"Like the outfit?" he asked, rolling the bottom of his mask back down. "Made it myself."

_Or Chinese orphans. Whatever._

"Who are you supposed to be?" The distraction worked. She was looking over his suit from head to toe.

_They always say clown first._

"A ninja?" she guessed. "From a game?"

_Whoa._

"I'm nothing like that tool."

_Who rides alone on a bus anyway?_

"Exactly," he said, and realized she thought he was talking to her. "Good guess," he added. Better for her to think that was what he meant.

She reached for the mug of the most disgusting drink ever made. "I'll get you something else, on the house." She sounded kind, patient, placating. She was worried he might be crazy.

_Maybe she's just worried about you._

"She seems nice," he said as she walked away with the drink.

_A damn shame if you think about it._

"Those zeroes were nicer."

_There sure were a lot of them._

"This is bad," he said, looking around the cafe. "Why did I even come here?"

_You are the master of subtlety_.

"The king," he said.

_You wanted to meet her._

"Why?"

_To see if the zeroes were enough. _

"I can be a good guy." He waved to another customer, an older man who was watching him over the fold of a newspaper. "See anything ya like, sweetheart?"

The man ruffled the paper and hid behind the pages.

"Is that what the story needs?" he said. "A good guy? All noble-hearted?"

_No._

"Oh good," he said, and stood from the table. He reached into one of his many pockets, pulled out a pen with the ink leaking across the tip, and scrawled something on the single napkin she had left him. "That shit's boring."

He was gone by the time she returned to the table, a steaming hot cup of Nicaraguan brew in her hand. She tilted her head at the napkin with a creased brow, and read the message.

_I O U_

"God," Lynn murmured. "I _always_ get the creeps."


	5. Vigor

"Fuck," he said as he stared down at the facility below. "This place is goddamn crawling."

_You should watch your language._

"But look at this shit! There's SHIELD bugs everywhere."

_The rating's not high enough._

"Well change it."

_It's not that easy. People get attached. _

"And now there's a shift change." He pointed at a distant corner, where two agents were taking a moment to chat before one of them left. "Four hour blocks."

_Your legs should be tired._

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's sitting on my ass." He absently rubbed one palm against his thigh; he wasn't about to admit that his leg had gone numb.

_I can see that, you know._

"You're the worst." He unfolded himself from the window where he'd been watching for the past six hours, grunting quietly when circulation resumed. "Four agents in four hour shifts. Something else is up."

_Be careful. If they see you, they'll shoot you in the face._

"I can't help they're jealous." He dropped down; gravel crunched when he landed.

_You should be quieter._

"I don't do quiet."

_She thought you were a ninja. _

"So?"

_It's not impressive if you're not a ninja._

"Who says I want to impress her?"

_She had a nice ass._

"I don't have to impress anyone. I'm already amazing." He raised his arms high and hollered, walking toward the building. "Hey! Any guards around here?"

_What are you doing?_

"Making an impression." A bullet slammed square into the center of his chest, blowing out through his back and taking a heart valve with it. He gagged and clutched the entry wound. "Son of a _bitch_."

_You did that to yourself._

He drew his swords and grinned. "Let's have some fun."

* * *

The phone blared into life and Steve fumbled at the dresser next to his head, momentarily thinking his alarm was going off. When he slapped the metal bell and the ringing continued, he opened his eyes and tried to remember what on Earth could possibly make that much racket that wasn't an alarm clock.

Cell phone. Right. Steve pushed himself up onto his elbows and grabbed the tiny contraption, swiping a finger across the bottom to answer the call. "Yeah?" he said hoarsely, more concerned with why he needed to get a call at two in the morning that having been woken up so early.

"Steve," Tony said from the other end of the line, "there's been a break-in."

"That was fast," Steve said as he sat up. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Not even two days."

"Well, Nick's plan worked. He'll be impossible to live with after this."

"What happened?" Steve stood and began to dress himself, juggling the phone awkwardly between his ear and shoulder while he slid his pants on.

"Cameras across the street caught everything. This guy took a bullet right to the chest - dead center! Didn't even faze him."

"Is he one of Xavier's?"

Tony laughed. "No. And I'll show you the hole that got chewed in my ass for suggesting it." Steve tugged a white shirt from his drawer and pulled it over his head, moving the phone away from his ear for a moment. Tony's voice continued drawling; when Steve picked the conversation back up, he was saying:

"-thinks that Natasha might know who this guy is, she's flying back now. Should be here in two hours - Sri Lanka, can you believe that time?"

"Too fast or too slow?" Steve asked, uncertain of which direction Tony was thinking.

"Way too slow. I'll have to fix the jet up for her."

"That'd be great," Steve said as he buttoned up his shirt. "Flying's a pain, if it can be shortened I'd sure appreciate that, Tony."

"God, you're so old. Get to Atlanta, I'm halfway there." Tony disconnected the call, and Steve dropped the phone into his jacket pocket before pulling the jacket over his shoulders. He glanced around his apartment, one last cursory check to make sure everything was in order, and left.

* * *

Steve knocked once, loudly, and waited for the voice to respond before trying the door. He found it open, and pushed through into the room with raised eyebrows. Sif smiled when she saw him.

"Just a moment longer, and I will be ready to depart."

"You leave your door open?" he asked. She straightened suddenly, her eyes flashing in challenge.

"I can handle myself."

"I know that," Steve said, and still looked concerned. The Asgardian warrior laughed and clapped his arm.

"You fret over the safety of a woman, despite knowing my own prowess in battle."

He rubbed his jaw, a crooked smile twisting his lips. "You got me there. I should know better."

"Aye," she said, "though I am not bothered that you worry."

"Only that I nag," he said. She tilted her head, confused at the term. "Ah - pester?"

"Ah, yes," she said, and laughed. Together they left the room provided to her by SHIELD during her stays. She locked the door behind herself, making a show of pressing the key into the lock, turning it, and flashing it to Steve before stowing the key away in her belt.

"Where have you been called to?" she asked him. She walked with her hands clenched, a forceful stride which echoed across the hallway.

"Remember the strain we dropped off two days ago?"

"At Stark's place of business?"

"Yes," he said. "There's been an incident. Someone tried to steal it."

She took three full steps before responding. He had to admit, he was impressed with her effort to delay her reply.

"You said this disease can manifest in any mortal, be they young or old? And it is always fatal?" Steve nodded. "Is it possible that Loki intends to repeat his attempt on Midgard?"

She didn't start with if he might have taken it - that, for Sif, was a foregone conclusion. Steve was almost sorry to disappoint her.

"It wasn't him," he said. Sif turned raised eyebrows to him. "Lynn asked him to leave her alone before the strain got here. According to her, he's been staying away."

"She simply has not seen him," she said. "That does not preclude his hand in this matter."

"We'll look into it." Steve sounded doubtful, but a suspect was a suspect. "Natasha might know this guy. That means an assassin, or maybe a mercenary. She'll be here soon to let us know."

* * *

When they arrived on the scene, Steve was surprised to find a SHIELD ambulance parked in the center of the lot, its lights illuminating the area with reds and blues. He waved to Bruce, who waved back with bright blue hands - he was wearing gloves. Tony was standing behind him glaring up at a large hole in the side of the building, which had been blasted into the concrete. He bent down as Steve and Sif walked within hearing range and snarled.

"Is that Twizzlers?"

Tony sounded annoyed and baffled. He reached down and picked up the packet with his bare hands, face scrunched in dismay. "He was eating _Twizzlers_?"

"You shouldn't touch that," Bruce said, trying to pull the packet away from Tony's ungloved fingers. "It could have prints."

"We haven't found them anywhere else, pretty sure we won't find them here. Hey look, it's the muscle." Tony avoided Bruce and waved the packet at Sif. "Asgard needs these. I'll let Jane know."

"What is it?" she asked, while Steve asked, "what happened?"

"Four agents down," Bruce said with a nod toward the ambulance. "One of them was barely alive when we got here. He didn't make it."

"Four?" Steve looked to the side, where three body bags laid in a line. "Barton?"

"Not here. It wasn't his shift."

Steve looked over the rubble, which had blasted through to the main lobby, to inside the room, where both doors remained intact. Whoever had done this apparently hadn't entered further once they were inside. _Why didn't he go in?_

"What do we know?" Steve asked. Tony tossed the Twizzlers to the ground and checked his watch.

"Two hours ago someone blew a hole in my building. When he got inside, JARVIS sounded the alarm, and that drove him away."

"He took the time to create this much havoc, and then left?" Sif shook her head. "That does not make sense. There is another aim at work."

"Ah - yes," Tony said, taking a moment to adjust to her language. "There _was_. JARVIS was knocked out with that explosion, completely. Took the video feed and everything."

Steve crossed his arms. "He blew a hole, knocked out the security, and then left?"

"Doesn't seem likely, huh?" Tony picked up a chunk of rock, then tossed it to the side. "I'm moving the kid tomorrow."

"Where's the Ridley strain?"

"It was never here," Bruce said. Steve clenched his jaw.

"This was bait?"

"Yep," Tony said, and smiled so wide that Steve knew the man had lost an argument with Fury over this particular plan. "Lynn and Bruce have been working with a decoy for two whole days."

"Are you going to tell her?" Steve looked concerned. "That could go badly."

"You're right." Tony glanced at Bruce. "That's why we've nominated _you_ to tell her."

Sif glanced at the curve of Steve's arm. "You cannot mean that," she said from behind her friend's back. Tony opened his mouth to speak and caught her eye; she leveled a dark, angry stare at the inventor, who blinked twice.

"Yes. Yes, it's a joke." Tony swatted Steve's chest gently with the back of his hand. "Haha!"

"I'll do it," Steve said wearily. Sif made a small noise behind him; he ignored the message there. "She probably won't yell at me."

"Cap -"

"Captain!" They all turned; an unknown SHIELD agent waved an electronic tablet at them. He approached the group and turned the tablet so that Steve could see; Sif peered over his shoulder at the curious device while Bruce and Tony looked from the sides.

"Security footage from the office across the road," the agent said. "We've got the explosion, and some movement. We're working on enhancing now."

"When should Agent Romanoff be here?" Steve asked.

"Ten minutes," the agent replied. They all watched the black and white video, where a shadowed figure walked, unencumbered, toward the building. The agents were already down when the explosion was set. The figure paused, then walked backwards ten steps. Exactly ten steps. It looked like he raised a fist. And then, the explosion went off. A bright white flash - rubble and debris spraying in all directions - and when the smoke cleared, the figure was gone.

"Why didn't he go further?" Steve asked. "The inner doors weren't breached."

"I think he knew it wasn't here," Bruce said. He pulled off his glasses and began to clean them with his sleeve. "I think someone told him."

"A leak?" Steve glanced at Sif, who raised her eyebrows. "Does Director Fury know this?"

"We're looking into it," the agent said. His voice was tight with restrained anger. The thought of a leak within the organization offended him.

"And we'll find it," a husky feminine voice assured from the side. Steve smiled at Natasha, who returned the expression and looked toward the building. "I hear I'm supposed to know something about this."

Tony plucked the tablet from the SHIELD agent and held it out to her. "Friend of yours?"

Natasha poked and prodded at the image, rewinding the video, expanding the view and enhancing with swift, easy strokes. She raised her eyebrows and tsked quietly.

"Oh, Wade," she said. "What are you up to now?"

* * *

"Open up!"

_Knocking is polite._

"Yeah, yeah." He pounded his fist against the door. "Happy?"

_I think you scared her._

"So what?"

_What if she has a fire escape? That always happens in the movies._

"Ah, dammit." He drew one of his guns, pointed at the door handle, and fired.

_King of subtle._

"I don't have time for subtle." He kicked at the door; it bounced off the wall and swung back toward him. "Should I say 'here's Johnny?'"

_Too obvious._

"Honey, I'm home!" He pitched his voice; the echoes reverberated around him.

_Not better._

"Don't be picky. C'mon babe, I _know_ you're here. I checked." He pulled a rectangular scanner from a pocket, where a red dot blipped several feet away. "I even have gadgets for this shit."

_Should've been sneakier. Like a ninja. You're not impressing anyone._

"Shut up," he said, and put the scanner away. "I guess it's hide and seek. I'll count to ten. You don't want me to hit ten, babe."

He kept the gun out, because why not? "Hey, darlin', this'll go a lot faster if you just come out. Oh, and _one_."

_Fire escape. Called it._

"There's not a fire escape. _Two._"

_You say that now. Just you wait._

"Three. Hey, isn't this kid in college? Where's the bong?" He kicked at the coffee table, which slammed against the wall. The files and papers scattered across the floor. "Four, five. This is boring. _Ten._ Where _is_ she?"

_You haven't even finished checking all the rooms. This is why sweeps are smart._

"Ain't nobody got time for that. Hey, this has gotta be the bedroom. Where the magic happens." He kicked open the door. "Here's a catchphrase!"

"Get out."

He looked around for the source of the voice, and there she was in the corner, dressed in a loose tank top and flannel pajama pants. The closet door was at her back, thrown open. Several boxes were on the floor around her feet. She was pointing a gun at him.

"You should make that easier to find, darlin'."

"Get _out._" She had a semiautomatic. The barrel trembled.

_I think we have a virgin._

"Guns aren't toys, babe. You should leave'em to the professionals."

_Great movie. Portman grew up hot._

He stepped closer. Her hands were trembling badly; she might shoot him by accident if he made any sudden moves. Not that it mattered. It might even make this job easier, if she were already reeling from thinking she killed a guy.

"JARVIS, where are you?" she said.

"That the AI? What a snob. I didn't like his lip. He's taking a nap."

_That _got a reaction. She glanced to the side, at her dresser.

"Stay back," she said when he took a step. The lack of conviction made him grin.

"Aw, babe, you look a little green. Somethin' bothering you?" He could reach out and take the gun now, but that wasn't his jam. He took another step closer.

"Stay back," she repeated, and for cripe's sake, were those honest to shit tears swimming in her eye holes?

_This is pathetic._

"No shit," he said. She blinked and looked uncertain. He took one more step, which pressed the barrel into his chest. "Your move Annie Oakley."

"What do you want?"

"I have a question."

"OK." The gun didn't move.

_That was easy. This chick is weird._

"Where's the Ridley strain at?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The thing you're working with. Look, I know it's not in the lab, so you better just tell me where it's at."

"But I…" She closed her mouth and her face darkened.

_Somebody's been lied to._

"Oh, great," he said angrily. "You didn't know? That's brilliant. That's _fantastic_."

"Get out," she said, her voice rising. "Get out!"

_One for two isn't bad odds._

"Yep," he said, and reached into his pocket. She watched him move with round, wet eyes. When she saw the needle she pulled the trigger, and the bullet slammed straight into his sternum and ricocheted against three ribs before coming to rest in his spleen.

"Guh!" He staggered back, clutching his chest. "You got me!"

_Play it up._

"Oh my God," He said. He dropped to his knees, clawing at the air. "Medic!"

"JARVIS, call the police. JARVIS!" Her voice was shrill with panic and the beginnings of shock. Definitely a virgin. She didn't drop the gun when she ran from the room, though. Too bad. He'd have to be sneaky.

_Like a ninja?_

"Shut up." He stood, his insides sore, and peered around the side of the door frame. The girl was digging through a drawer in the kitchen, her breathing loud and ragged. Definitely shock. The front door was still swung open and she hadn't left. She didn't even see him leave the bedroom.

_Easy peasy. Say, what's on TV tonight? _

"I'll be back in time." He should whisper, but she wasn't paying any attention to the world. She'd got her sights set on one specific thing in that drawer, and she'd find it, by God.

_You could stand to focus like that._

She turned when he stepped into the kitchen. Her pupils were dilated, shocked to see him. She opened her mouth.

"How -"

He jabbed the end of the needle into her, the spot between her throat and shoulder. The plunger went down; she staggered away and grabbed at the syringe. She hit the counter and gasped for air, blinking to clear her newly-blurred vision.

"Night night, sweetheart." He waved the tips of his gloved fingers as she lost consciousness and fell to the floor.

* * *

"There's something I don't understand," Steve said later. They had taken over an office building in downtown Atlanta, the collective might of SHIELD and Stark's accounts driving the property owners to bend over backwards and allow them the facilities for whatever use they needed. At the moment, they were standing in a conference room, images from the attack earlier that night flashing on the screen behind them, along with images of the agents killed.

"What's that?" Tony asked, his nose buried in a file. "Agent Slader was trained in honest-to-God Kung Fu. Caprika was a sharpshooter, Drury a ten year veteran of the agency. How did this guy get the drop on _all_ of them?"

"What is it, Steve?" Sif had her arms crossed and was looking at the images on the projector, her face hard.

"Tony," Steve said, "this disease is in Manhattan, right?"

"Yeah." The inventor glanced up at him. "It's spreading fast through Harlem."

"Do we know how many cases?"

"Unconfirmed numbers, but it's close to a hundred," Bruce said.

"So if someone wants to get their mitts on this thing, why go to all this trouble?" Tony, Bruce and Sif all looked at him. "It's in the streets, right? And the news is covering it like crazy."

"Right," Tony said slowly. "It's gift-wrapped. There's no need for shenanigans."

"Seems like the hard part isn't getting the disease," Steve said. "It's getting someone to work with it."

"They'd need someone who knew how," Bruce said, warming to the idea. "A scientist who -"

"_Goddammit._" Tony reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone, bursting from his chair. "JARVIS, get Lynn on the line."

"I cannot, sir."

"What?" Tony shot a look at Steve.

"The force of the blast disabled my local mainframe, which includes Miss Creed's residence."

"She still has that god-awful landline," Tony said. "She insisted. _Call it._"

"Yes, sir." And the air filled with the gentle sound of a phone ringing, far away.

"Answer, kid." Tony tugged at the edges of his jacket, which dangled, unbuttoned, at his sides. "_Answer,_ kid."

The voicemail picked up. "This is Lynn Creed, please -"

Tony hung up. "JARVIS, keep calling until she answers." He looked at the rest of them. "I'm heading over."

"Don't bother," Natasha said as she entered the room. "She won't be there." She tapped on the computer which was casting the projections, and a bright red mask with black ovals appeared on the screen. "I know this guy. He's already made his move."

"Who is he?" Steve glared at the image above them, mocking their slow response.

"Wade Wilson. He goes by Deadpool." She caught Bruce's look. "I didn't make the name."

"You think he took Lynn?"

"I know he did," she said. "Clint went to her apartment as soon as he heard what happened. The door was kicked in; she was gone."

"But why _her_?" Tony was grasping. "She's still a _kid_, no PhD -"

"She's got your backing." Bruce took off his glasses and groaned. "Your funding. _That's_ how they found her."

"I'm sure of it," Natasha said gently. Tony looked like his eyes might pop from their sockets. "They found the project and who was assigned. They knew Bruce wouldn't be a good target."

"So they went after her." Tony sat down, his face drained. "Oh, kid. I'm sorry."

"If they took her because of her backing, we should hear from them soon," Steve said. He avoided looking at Tony to give the man a brief moment of privacy. "They can't expect to get money without giving us the address."

"Us?" Tony asked. He glanced at Steve, his mouth grim.

"Us," Steve said, and Sif nodded behind him.

* * *

"Prince Thor."

Thor looked up from a stack of correspondence, so engrossed in the reading that he had not noticed the approach of the guard.

"Yes?"

"Heimdall has requested your presence." And the guard left. There wasn't a citizen in Asgard who did not know the location of the golden guardian, and the prince was not to be escorted.

Thor pushed the pile away from himself, pleased to be done with matters of state when given the opportunity. He would buy the gatekeeper a drink as soon as possible in thanks.

He rode to the Observatory, less hurried for not knowing what Heimdall could want of him. The ride presented the opportunity to gaze out across his creation, stretching into the vast expanse of eternity. He smiled to see the planets placed close enough to admire, and remembered those further off which the citizens of Asgard and the rest of the Nine would never encounter.

He reined in his stallion and dismounted, patting the horse on the neck before approaching. "Heimdall!" he called in warm greeting. "I have come."

"Thor," Heimdall said as he left his post. He offered an arm to clasp Thor's, the two sharing a smile of greeting. "It is good to see you in Asgard again. Will you stay long?"

"My father would have me stay indefinitely, were it his choice." Thor dropped his arm and shook his head. "He does not approve of my dealings with Midgard."

"I have heard," the gatekeeper said. "It is clever, to introduce trade between the realms. He will have less reason to protest."

"Jane is always clever," Thor said fondly, and the two shared a conspiratorial laugh. The moment passed, and Thor crossed his arms, unable to waste time.

"Why have you called me here?"

"I must speak with your brother," the gatekeeper said. "There is news, and your presence will be needed when I deliver it."

"If you are in need of a restraining influence, I suggest my mother rather than myself."

"It is news you must hear as well," Heimdall said. Thor looked at him, and the gatekeeper nodded. "You will return to Midgard after you have heard."

"Jane is alright," the thunderer said quietly, "otherwise you would not need to speak with Loki as well. He would not care for the others - they are not his friends - so it must be…"

Heimdall nodded, and Thor looked away to the stars. A distant galaxy, purple in hue, resembled a storm cloud rising on a desert horizon.

"We go," he said. He mounted the stallion and turned, waiting for Heimdall to follow and hoping that the storm, with its raging madness, remained faraway and undefined.

* * *

_Realism note from the author: Knocking out JARVIS' mainframe is inspired by a real-life event I witnessed. I once worked in a company which leased their system from another company in a different state. The mainframe for the system was housed in the other state, and was once struck by lightning. The electrical force was so powerful that our lights flickered and our systems went down, four states away. _


	6. On Edge

Lynn woke up groggy, her head pounding, and knew that she was not hungover. She raised a hand to her forehead and groaned, flinching at the bright lights she could tell hovered above her without opening her eyes.

"God, finally," said a hollow, echoing voice near her head. "Rise and shine, you won the lottery."

"I didn't play any numbers," she slurred. Her tongue was heavy and thick inside of her mouth; she needed water.

"Why not? Better chance of a jackpot than lightning." A rustling that sounded like some kind of wrapper being crinkled.

She opened her eyes and raised her head, finding herself prone on a canvas cot. Her neck was sore from a bad angle, and she pressed a palm to the side of her throat to massage the muscle. The lights were blinding; she squinted, counted to ten, and tried again to focus.

"Nice setup, right? They even have a cute little lab coat for ya. Go on, try it on."

The cot was pressed against a tight corner; the voice was coming from behind her head. She ignored it for now in favor of trying to understand what she was seeing in front of her. The room was bright white and clean; linoleum covered the floors, black Corian on the bench tops. It was a small facsimile of her lab in Tony's facility, and she didn't understand what she was seeing at all.

She turned her head to try and see something that made sense. Behind her, across a pane of glass, sat the man who had brought her here. He was perched on a stool, one leg braced against the ground while the other was crooked to rest his foot against the bottom rung. He was eating cookies straight from a sleeve; the wrapper crackled every time he pulled a new one out. She thought she should hear more noise, more crunching as he chewed, but the glass only allowed so much noise through.

Anger bloomed bright and hard, slamming through her brain and pushing her to her feet. She staggered a moment, dizzy from the drug, and battered a fist against the glass. The entire pane rumbled at the strike, wobbling and absorbing the blow. Not glass at all, but thick plastic. She could hear vents blowing air into the room behind her.

She opened her fist and pressed her palm flat against the divider, pushing herself back to stand in a straight line. She was too angry to be scared.

"Where's my gun?" she asked. She raised her voice to make sure he heard. He hadn't looked up at her display; when she asked, he reached behind his back and pulled out the pistol. A black semiautomatic, hand-crafted by Tony Stark, with _Stark Industries _emblazoned along the side. Natasha had taught her how to use it.

"Put it down," she said, and her voice was tight. "Don't touch it."

"Nah," he said, and slid it behind his back again. "It's a nice model. Original, right? I'm gonna keep it."

Lynn rested both palms on the plastic, breathing hard. "Look, I don't know what you want -"

"Zeroes," he said. He finished the sleeve and balled up the wrapper, then tossed it to the side. "_All_ the zeroes. I'm wallpaper, babe." He rolled the bottom of his mask down. "I know, right?" he said, to no one at all.

Lynn balled her fists and fought the urge to beat them against the barrier. She turned and looked at the room, a small lab complete with a small stool. She walked over and tugged at it gently; the stool lifted.

"What is she doing?" he asked. She carried it to the plastic, and while he watched and started to raise his hands to stop her, she turned the stool so that she was holding the legs and began swinging it at the clear barrier, over and over again until all that she could hear was the ringing of damaged plastic.

"Stop," he said, "stop!"

She ignored him; she was small, but she was stronger than she'd been a year ago. Natasha and Clint were strict.

"Bad idea," he called over the noise. A clatter of footsteps rose behind him. "Now you've done it."

A crowd of men entered the room to join him. Lynn couldn't see any of their faces; they were draped in bandanas and scarves. She felt surrounded by masks, and backed away from the barrier when she saw their rifles pointed at the plastic. She looked to the side, where she thought a door to her room might be, and waited for them to come in and try to stop her.

"Miss Creed," one of them said. He pulled his scarf low so that she could see his face; she was darker than him, his face the color of brown sand. He watched her with bright, curious eyes, and she could see that he was young. He held a file in both hands.

"Hello," she said.

"I am Afzal Bakaar," he said. "My father was killed by Tony Stark."

She couldn't help herself; she thought, _that doesn't narrow it down._ She didn't say that, though. She didn't think it would help.

"I'm sorry," she said instead. The young man smiled, and beside him, her kidnapper jutted a finger at the wall in the background. She looked to see the red flag - two sabers surrounded by smaller circles. Rings. _Ten Rings._

_Oh no,_ she thought.

"Look at their logo," he said. "Bitchin' rad."

"That's enough, Deadpool," Afzal said.

"But it _is_," Deadpool said. He drew his swords and layered them against the logo, blocking the black sabers with his. "Beautiful work."

"Can you guess what we want from you?" Afzal asked her. He spoke with the halting cadence of a man translating from one language to another before he let the words free. She didn't look behind herself. She kept her eyes straight ahead, focused on him.

"I have some thoughts," she said.

"She's got some thoughts," Deadpool echoed. "Might be scrambled. What was that shit, anyway?"

"A mild tranquilizer," Afzal said, watching her. He addressed her as he spoke. "It will have worn off by now." He was saying it for her benefit. She stayed quiet; her hands clenched on the legs of the stool.

"I'd like to leave," she said.

"Perhaps," he replied. "First, you help us with the Ridley strain."

"I can't." She felt her chest constrict; Kyle Brogan, age four, was standing behind Afzal, pouting at her.

"Told ya she'd be stubborn," Deadpool said, strolling closer to the plastic. "Look, babe, you got no options here. If you say no, they'll press this button. You see this button? You know what it does? Tell'er what it does, Bakaar."

Afzal had not stopped watching her. "It will fill the room with carbon monoxide gas," he said.

"Carbon monoxide! That's much worse than dihydrogen monoxide, right? Signed a petition for that once. Do you know what carbon monoxide will do?"

Lynn was bitter. She hated him, and she hated them, and she hated this small little room with its tiny laboratory.

"Yes," she said, her voice high with anger. "It binds to hemoglobin better than oxygen. You suffocate because you're not getting oxygen out to your organs. Oxygen deprivation."

Afzal's eyes gleamed.

"Well," said Deadpool. "The more you know."

"I'm not afraid to die," she said to Afzal. His young face twisted into a smile; she saw his teeth. He opened the file and held up three pictures. Clint walking with her; the group at the restaurant, laughing together; Brent standing next to her on the stage.

"I will threaten whoever it takes, Miss Creed. This will go faster if we avoid the delay."

"That's repetitive," said Deadpool. "Isn't it? You should rehearse your speeches more. I don't think she's buying it."

"I can't work on it," Lynn said. "It doesn't grow. We have no model organism." She and Bruce had been working on that aspect - trying to find something, anything at all which would let the Ridley strain grow in a lab. Of course, they hadn't been working with the real strain at all, which meant all of that time and work was garbage. Bitterness made her vision slanted.

"I am aware," said Afzal. "As far as is known, it can only survive in a human host."

"I'm not working on a human," she whispered. Afzal was still smiling; he hadn't heard her through the plastic, but he knew what she said.

"What?" asked Deadpool. "Didn't catch that."

"I won't," she said to Kyle Brogan. His chest was open, his little lungs bloodied from rupture. "I refuse."

"Stubborn like a jackass," said Deadpool. "Might as well press the button."

"You need a human host to make our weapon," Afzal said. "We found one for you."

Behind him, three of the scarfed men pointed their rifles, aimed at her kidnapper's head, and fired three times into his back. One hit his shoulder; one hit the plastic barrier and snapped back; one hit his skull. Lynn dropped the stool and covered her face in reflex; blood and chunks of flesh covered the plastic barrier where he'd been standing moments ago. She stepped back and shook, fingers trembling.

"Oh my God," she said. She couldn't stop shaking. Afzal turned to the men behind him.

"Take him. Bind him tight - Miss Creed?"

"He's dead," she said. She watched them carry him away.

"He will heal."

Afzal stepped to the barrier where the blood was already congealing. He pressed a hand to the clear plastic, his palm leaving a hand-print against the glass. He looked at her hungrily, desperately. He was still smiling that feral smile.

"You will work with us," he said. "You will not resist."

"I won't," Lynn said. She found her voice through Kyle's pleading eyes. "I refuse."

Afzal spoke over her, through her. He hadn't heard a word she said.

"We will purge the world of Western thought. It is not strange that this started in America. It is not strange."

He looked at her, and she pressed herself back, back until she felt a bump behind her. She gripped the counter-top and stared at the face of conviction.

* * *

Heimdall stepped ahead once they entered the lower cells of Asgard, the guards parting before him like ripples in a stream. Because of their destination, they might have questioned Thor, or shot him puzzled, somewhat pitying looks as he walked. Heimdall's presence negated all of that. He could only be present for official state business, and the princes must both be involved because such was Heimdall's will.

They came to the cell at the base of a long flight of steps, simple and unassuming among the rest. Their mother had insisted Loki be given the corner cell to allow for some level of privacy. It was for the benefit of Asgard that he had a cell at all, for the family could not reveal the reality of his arrangement to the citizens. Only Thor's friends knew the truth of it.

The resident sat on the floor and ignored the approach of heavy footsteps - or appeared to. When Thor rounded into view, the corner of his mouth tilted upward into an expression which could rightfully be called a sneer.

"Son of Odin," Loki said. "How nice to see you."

"Loki, come now and speak," Thor said. He raised a fist and banged it twice against the barrier; golden hues spread from the strike, the magic temporarily interrupted before coalescing again.

"Am I not here?" the trickster said from the floor. His back was pressed to the wall, one knee raised to brace a book against it. "I seem to be present enough for conversation."

"I will not speak to your shadow," Thor said.

"I hear you well enough," the trickster said. "You speak loud enough for three."

"Come and speak to us," Heimdall said. Loki's head shot upward, and glazed eyes stared at the gatekeeper's presence as though it could only be a dream.

"Why have you come here?" he asked. "What could you want?"

"You made a request," Heimdall said. "I am honoring it."

Loki blinked slowly, once. The glaze faded; his form became surer, more solid. He stood and tossed the book to the side, his anger humming around his expression.

"A request," he murmured. "I remember. What say you now, mighty Heimdall? I did not ask for reports."

Heimdall addressed the both of them together, his tone steady and sure.

"A terrible malady spreads in Midgard - your lady is safe, Thor. Your iron friend moved her away."

"I know of it," Loki said. Thor glanced at him. "What? I assumed your dear precious Jane would tell you."

"And you know of Lynn Creed's role," Heimdall said. Loki drew himself up and narrowed his eyes.

"She informed me," he said tightly.

"Heimdall, be plain." Thor was struggling to understand this hesitancy. "Is Lynn Creed inflicted with this malady?"

To his side, Loki's hand jolted. He pressed a palm against the shimmering barrier; Heimdall shook his head, and the trickster drew away with a hiss.

"There is no easier way to bring bad tidings," Heimdall said. "Tidings are as they are, and it is we who assign their value."

"Spit it out!" Loki said.

"She has been taken," the gatekeeper said. Loki tilted his head while Thor watched him.

"It could not be Thanos," the trickster said quietly. "I have been careful."

"No - it is nothing to do with Thanos." Heimdall spoke in earnest then, and told them of what he had seen, and where she was trapped. He spoke of her abduction with little inflection, but paused when he began to speak of her captors. There was a darkness there, and he told them of it to ensure that they were informed.

"The damned _scab_," Loki snarled when he finished. "Would that I could tear her from me." He turned to Thor, who saw the storm gathering behind his anger. "I will _kill_ her, brother; I will _roast_ her flesh -"

"Be silent," Thor said, and Loki fell still at his command. "She lives still; we will find her."

"That I may snap her neck between my fingers?" Thor met his gaze evenly. "What - you think I should care? I should _care _that this has occurred? I have no tether, Thor - she would not let me replace it -"

"We will find her," Thor repeated. Loki flung a hand to the wall; a gust of power burst against the barrier.

"The fool!" he cried. "The little witling! She will be dead before soon - she will be dead. We will find her _corpse_, and that is merry, for I would surely wring her throat -"

"Loki," Thor said. The trickster ignored him. Thor raised his voice. "Loki. _Loki_. Look straight at me; do not look away."

Loki met his eyes, wild and unmoored.

"We will find her," the thunderer said. "We will find her."

Loki's face twisted in pain; he pulled his eyes to the side and snarled at the wall.

* * *

_Oh my god that hurt._

"Hrzm gh nert."

_That was terrible. No one can understand you._

"Fk thm."

_I think they got that._

"You're alive." A woman's voice. He opened his eyes and blinked; he was sat up, in a chair, hands and legs tied with cord. There were three around each hand, ten around each leg. Five across his chest. He strained to turn his forearms, palms facing up. He looked up at the clear Plexiglas, balled his fists, and raised two middle fingers at the empty room.

_I'm sure they're terrified. Say, do you feel that?_

"They brought food while you were out." He turned to look at her; she was sitting on the cot, legs crossed, an empty plastic bowl at her side. "You were out a long time. I ate all of it."

_Something's wrong._

"No shit," he said. The girl pushed herself off the cot and approached him. Her eyes were dilated as she leaned in close.

_Now is not the time._

"But she's right there," he said. She was almost touching his face through the holes in his mask.

_Seriously. Do you __**feel**__ that?_

"I'm Lynn," she said. She drew her fingers away and straightened. "What's your name?"

"Deadpool."

She swayed. Her hand grabbed her face, tightened. Holding her thoughts together.

"Your name," she said.

_I don't think she sees you._

"Deadpool's fine."

She raised her hand to slap him.

_What __**is **__that?!_

"Geez, babe! Lay off the bullying!"

It wasn't that it would hurt. It was that he couldn't do anything back.

"Your name_._"

She looked abandoned.

"Wade," he offered. "Wilson!" he added, when she reared back again.

"Wade Wilson." And she giggled.

_Something is very wrong._

"What did they give you, babe?" He was eying the bowl, suspicious of the contents. She shrugged.

"Do you know what they want, Wade?" She had stepped away again, back to the cot. She picked up the bowl; the plastic spoon rattled against the sides.

_To give you all the zeroes._

"I'm guessing not to pay me my hard-earned cash."

_Look around. There's something -_

Lynn looked at him over her shoulder. She didn't say anything; the answer was obvious.

"Fuckers," he said.

_Language._

"The Ridley strain can't grow outside a human host," she said. "Think about that."

_Oh._

He didn't have anything to say.

_That's bad._

"That _is_ bad," he said. "_Really_ bad." He tugged at his arms and grunted. "Can ya help me out here, babe?"

_It feels like a funny bone, but all over. _

She looked at the top right corner of the room.

_Eyes in the sky._

"When the moon hits your eye," he said. He tugged harder. "C'mon, doll, it'll only take a second."

"I won't do it," she said. He looked at her; she wasn't looking at him. She was staring up, up into the corner. Her nostrils were flared.

_Is she crazy?_

She turned and flung the bowl at the Plexiglas; the rattle echoed throughout the room.

"Yep," he said. "But she's all I've got. Hey. Hey! Lynn, right?"

She turned to him.

"A little help? Help, over here? Aquí, over here. Hey. Hey!"

She moved as though her limbs were weighed down. Like she was walking through tar.

_You're the sane one here._

"That is never a good thing. That's it, babe. Right. Now check for -"

He saw the bracelet on her wrist a moment before she touched him, and braced for impact. Her hand connected with his arm and the circuit was completed; the both of them yelled from a sudden shock, electricity popping through them and slamming down into the ground. She fell back to the ground and held her hand with a flinch. The crisp smell of burned hair stung the air.

_So that's what it was._

"My biscuits are burnin'," he croaked.

* * *

"I cannot return with you," Loki said. Thor continued gathering his supplies without a word.

"I cannot," the trickster said. Thor raised both eyebrows and looked at him, straightening a bracer.

"You will return to Midgard," he said.

"But not with you." Loki stepped away and began slowly pacing across Thor's quarters. Restrained violence hung in the air between them. Thor felt as though he could reach out and grasp a fistful, a keepsake to carry for later use.

"You will return to your friends and join the hunt," Loki said. "They would not trust me - nor I them, to be sure. It is better to remain separate."

"I go with you, brother," Thor said. "If you will not join the Avengers, then I shall join you."

"To what end?" Loki grasped at his own hands behind his back; Thor watched the gesture with concern.

"I cannot allow you to venture upon Midgard unattended, Loki," Thor said. "You are too close to violence, and that realm has suffered enough at your hands."

"I did not unleash that blight," the trickster said.

"They do not know that," Thor replied. "And the fault rests with your actions, if not your intentions."

"Your Avengers will see no difference." Loki stopped in his route and peered out the window; the golden glow of Asgard dimmed in the day's failing light. "And why should I ally with them?"

"They can help us find Lynn Creed faster," Thor said. He had finished with his bracers and gripped Mjolnir in one fist, prepared to call upon the remaining armor when needed. "And Heimdall's coordinates will mean something to Stark and Banner."

"I remember them," Loki said.

"Can you find her?"

Loki said nothing. His fingers twitched against his palm.

"Take us," Thor said, knowing full well that his brother could not. The directions were visceral and designed for a different kind of pathway than that carved by magic. Heimdall could not provide a direct location because something, _something_, was blocking some part of his sight.

"Very well," Loki said, and Thor nodded behind his back. The conclusion was foregone.

"We go."


	7. Construct

_Author's note: in which Lynn shows that she has learned a few tricks._

* * *

Tony stood in the center of Lynn's fully furnished apartment and crossed his arms. SHIELD agents were inspecting every possible nook and cranny of the rooms, searching for some traceable evidence to follow up on. Tony moved out of their way for the kitchen. The window sill was clean and inhabited - a small betta fish drifted lazily in his bowl. When Tony moved closer, the fish floated upward expectantly. Tony picked up the food container, sitting on the sill just a few inches away from the bowl, and uncapped it.

"Bloodworms? Ugh, kid." Tony pinched a few in his fingers. "Hey, Maxwell," he said. He dropped several flecks into the water.

"Maxwell?"

Barton walked up behind him and looked at the fish; his face was grim.

"For the singer, I think. Or maybe just because she liked the name. She's a little weird."

"Fits right in," Barton said. "What do you think of all this?"

"I think I'm an idiot for hooking JARVIS up to one mainframe," Tony said. "I should have seen this coming."

"This isn't on you," Clint said. Tony turned and caught the man's hard stare.

"Who are we blaming?" he asked. "I could use a good scapegoat."

"This was Fury's plan." Clint crossed his arms. "You argued with him about it."

"Fat lot of good that did." Tony capped the fish food and set it back on the window sill. "Next time I'll start with _hell _and end with _no_ and get there with a lot of angry profanity in the middle."

"He might listen," Clint said. He was certain that Nick Fury would listen carefully to anything Tony had to say, then disregard it all in favor of his own goals.

"No he won't," Tony said angrily. "Maybe he'll listen - he'll listen _real hard_. And then he'll ignore everything I say."

Clint nodded. Behind them, an agent tapped his shoulder. Clint turned and took the offered tablet. He read over the information, nodded, and handed it back.

"The blood isn't hers," he said to Tony. The inventor let out a short breath.

"Then it's his. That doesn't do us any good."

"We know she's not hurt," Clint said.

"She wasn't hurt then." Tony rubbed his chest, an absent-minded gesture. "She might be hurt now."

_She might. _Clint didn't agree because he didn't need to - Tony knew how quickly captivity could turn painful. He turned to watch the goings-on in the apartment, supervising. The landline began to ring. Both of them turned to stare at the corded phone, practically an antique, and several of the agents rushed out of the bedroom to join them.

"We've got the line tapped," Clint said. "We can trace whoever it is." He motioned to the phone with his elbow; Tony moved forward and picked it up just before the answering machine.

"Who is this?" he demanded. His knuckles were white from a tight grip; he blinked and creased his brow. "I'm Tony Stark." A pause. "Yes, _that_ Tony. No, she won't make it to practice tonight."

Clint raised both eyebrows and mouthed, _practice?_ Tony shrugged, still listening.

"I'll tell her," he said. He hung up and tugged at his jacket to straighten the sides. "It wasn't them."

"Practice?" Clint asked.

"For a band." Tony was fiddling with his fingers now, nervous tension manifesting in a variety of gestures. He poked at the answering machine, tinkering with the keys. "Apparently, Lynn is in a band."

"A band on a stage?" Clint asked. He was doubtful.

"That's the kind. Have you heard of Brent?"

"No."

"That's who that was," Tony said. "I think I'll pay him a visit." He raised his voice, looking at the agents. "Get me an address." At Clint's skeptical glance, he shrugged. "Maybe he saw something strange."

"Or maybe you want to interrogate him," Clint said.

"You're coming?"

"Of course."

They shared a brief, cynical smile. Outside, a sudden clap of thunder preceded a swirling vortex of wind and lightning; the agents all shot to their feet or ran from the rooms without windows to stare outside. Tony tugged at his jacket and nodded at the door.

"We have company," he said, and left the apartment. Clint followed. Together, the two men descended the stairs rather than use the elevator, both preferring the relative openness of the stairwell versus the confined space of the metal compartment.

The stairwell also opened directly to the outside. Tony shoved open the heavy metal door at the bottom of the steps and walked out into the open; Clint moved more slowly, his eyes roving the skyline before walking into potentially hostile territory.

"Well," said Tony, "look who's here."

Clint nodded once to Thor in greeting, but didn't look away from the man at his side. The trickster smiled wide and looked to be on the verge of laughter.

"Hello, dear friends," Loki said. "I have missed you."

* * *

Steve sat with his legs crossed on the mat of the training room, his white shirt coated with sweat. He was breathing hard, out through his mouth, in through his nose to keep pace with his heart. Both of his hands rested against his knees, and he kept his eyes closed. Over a short time, his breathing evened out and quieted until he could only hear the rhythmic thumping inside of his chest.

The training room door opened. Sif's footsteps carried her closer. He smelled food - some kind of meat - and opened his eyes when a cold, wet surface touched his forehead.

"Water," she offered. He took the bottle and sipped until she looked satisfied. He wasn't the only one who pestered.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the offered wrap. He pulled gently at the pita bread to find grilled chicken, lettuce and tomatoes.

"Director Fury told me that you hadn't eaten since you'd been here," Sif said, seating herself next to him. For the time being, she was in Earth-style exercise clothing: a pair of loose, long yoga pants and shirt. Both were black, which made her bright hazel eyes stand out clearly against her pale skin.

Steve took another sip of water and began eating. Sif looked off at the far wall, where several faux weapons hung. They ate together, and when they finished she set her hands on her own knees, mirroring his posture.

"Steve," she began, and he tensed.

"You're about to tell me something I won't like," he said. She nodded.

"Thor has come to Midgard. Heimdall told him of your troubles, and the search for Lynn Creed. He wishes to join."

Steve waited. Sif took the moment to gather herself before continuing.

"He has brought Loki with him."

Steve looked down at his hands. "I figured he would." He tugged at the corner of his pant's bottom seam. "What about Fandral and Hogun? Volstagg?"

"The Warriors Three have been called away to Vanaheim. There is unrest there." She sipped from the same water bottle. "Heimdall has provided some type of coordinates, which Loki is giving to Bruce and Tony now."

"That's good," Steve said. He felt exhausted, and he did not want to talk. Sif watched him for a while, then reached out and laid her palm over his hand. He looked from her hand to her face, and she smiled faintly at him before giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll get back to it," he said. "Soon."

"Of course," she said.

* * *

She'd had a headache for the first few hours, and in that time their captors provided another bowl full of steaming hot soup. She'd left it alone, refusing to touch any more of their meals for fear of just what they were giving her. The soup sat untouched on the floor, the grease congealed across the top. The headache wore on, the pounding decreasing in a slow tempo rather than a rapid descent. She rubbed her forehead every now and then, and otherwise ignored it.

Lynn looked through the drawers and shelves of her prison, impressed that she had been provided with so much despite a clear desire to resist. Sodium hydroxide and hydrochloric acid sat in plastic bottles underneath the counters; inside of a metal cabinet, formaldehyde, phenol chloroform and various other toxic organic compounds were housed. The glass bottles holding the chemicals were the only glass she could find; every other supply was plastic.

"Yer makin' me dizzy, babe," Wade said from several feet away. "Sit down for a minute, wouldja?"

"I thought you'd be in more of a hurry. And don't call me that," she said. She climbed onto the countertop and pushed up from her knees to reach the high shelves. She stopped for a moment to look at him. "Or do you not care? I could stop worrying so much if you're volunteering."

"Been volunteered before, babe," he said. His arms continuously twisted and jerked, attempting to loosen the cords. "Didn't work out so hot."

"Don't call me that." She was standing by now, and inspected the various plastic pipettes for something useful. "Are you only good with guns?"

"I have swords, too," he grumbled.

"Is that it?"

"A winning personality."

Her lips thinned.

"I don't think she likes my jokes," he said.

"I don't," she said in direct reply. "Now is not the time."

"I'm focusing," he said. "See? Look at me focus." He pulled at his arms and grunted with the effort. She climbed down from the counter and sighed.

"No knives," she said absently. "No glass I can use. There's acid…"

"No," he said firmly. Lynn looked at him. Despite the mask, she could _see_ worry in the lines of his face.

"You'll heal," she said.

"She's crazy," he said to no one. "I gotta get outta here."

"You and me both," she said. She was kneeling on the bare ground, rummaging through the lower shelves. "So that's it? You heal really fast? No super strength, no laser eyes?"

He scowled at the cabinet door she was sitting behind. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"We don't have to like each other," she said. "We just have to get out."

He wriggled his wrist and tugged. The chair underneath him creaked in protest; he smiled. "Right."

"I need better friends," she muttered.

"Probably true," he said. The arm of the chair was cracking under his constant movement; he continued twisting, twisting until he heard a quiet _pop_.

"It wasn't my shoulder," he said.

"What wasn't?" Lynn leaned back and closed the cabinet, wiping a hand over her face in frustration.

"That'll work?" he asked. She looked over at him and tilted her head. He spoke to no one, a lot - she had chosen to respond as though he were talking to her, but right now she didn't know _how _to respond.

"What, Wade?" She stood; he watched her.

"I dunno," he said, "she seems nice."

She saw his arm twitch at an angle just outside of what the bindings should allow, and grabbed a bottle of sodium hydroxide in the same moment he surged from the chair. She tried jolting to her feet, to put the counter between herself and him, but she was too slow; he crashed into her and they went down together.

She scrabbled at the bottle she'd grabbed, trying to uncap it to throw into his face; he slammed an elbow into her wrist and she dropped the bottle with a cry. He slapped it away, then shoved her head backwards against the ground. She saw stars and fell still.

"Whistle while you work," he sang. He began whistling as he dragged her to her feet and walked her over to the chair, which was now lacking both arms and two front legs. She saw the destination and swung a fist around, clocking him in the ear.

"Ow!" he cried, and dropped her. "You hit me in the _ear_!" She crawled; he gripped the side of his head with one wide palm. "Why the _ear?_" he demanded.

"It hurts," she said. She stood up and braced herself to lose. He was bigger and stronger, with more training. She shook her injured wrist and waited. A sudden clatter of footsteps drew her eyes to the plastic barrier, where armed guards were gathering; in another moment, a thick arm wrapped around her throat from behind and began to choke her.

"The brigade is here," he said as the men stood on the other side of the Plexiglas. "Think they can save ya?"

Lynn kicked at his legs with her bare heels. She hit what felt like a knee and he grunted; she hit it again and he shifted her weight.

"Feisty," he said. "I need a hose here."

Afzal entered the room on the opposite side of the barrier. His face was a mask of apathetic interest, barely registering a conflict. His bright eyes alighted on Lynn, who was gripping the arm around her throat and clawing at the fabric covering it.

"Hey, it's that guy," Wade said.

"What do you want?" Afzal asked through the glass, tilting his head. Wade rolled his eyes.

"He wants to know what I want. What a mystery. Two guesses."

"We cannot let you free," Afzal said. His glittering eyes crinkled with a smile.

"Then I kill your little scientist here. Done. _Finito._ No more experiments!"

Afzal walked closer to the barrier and flicked a small plastic cover from a smaller blue button. Lynn felt the arm around her throat tighten.

"He's going to press the button," Wade said. "Don't you press that button."

"There are others," Afzal said calmly. He was still smiling. "We will kill you both; _you_ will live, and we will find someone else to do our work." His eyes drifted to the side, where the broken chair sat on display.

"Nothing may enter or leave that room without my will," he said. "You are as trapped as you were in that chair."

"Do we have a plan B?" Wade asked. Lynn felt the arm loosen; she kicked and clawed at the same time, and he released her. She stumbled a step and grabbed her throat, gasping and glaring at Afzal.

"Was it your plan or his?" he asked. Lynn glanced over her shoulder and decided not to answer.

"I would rather not kill you, Miss Creed," he said. "You stand to benefit as well. Your name will become renowned for your work."

_For murder,_ she thought. She said nothing.

"The strain will be here tomorrow," Afzal said. "Try to get along until then."

The men left; Wade and Lynn watched until the last footsteps were gone. Lynn turned to him and stepped closer, vibrating with anger. When she was close enough, she slapped him as hard as she could.

"I might've deserved that," he said, and she slapped him again. He raised his hands when she prepared for a third.

"Hey, look, it was worth a shot," he said, rubbing his cheek.

"I know," she said. "Now we know."

And she slapped him a third time.

* * *

Loki stalked the laboratory like a wounded cat, his eyes flickering toward any slight movements he caught in the shadows. Bruce was at home; he'd stayed away when Tony and Thor both assured him that Loki's temper was under supervision. Tony had taken the high route of completely ignoring the trickster unless it was absolutely necessary to engage. Clint addressed him directly, making a point to meet Loki's eyes as often as possible.

"You know," he'd said in the first tense minutes of reunion, "with everything that's happened, you've done what you did to me _twice_ now."

That had not helped Tony's blood pressure, and was right about the time the inventor decided that Bruce had better just stay home.

Now Tony was on video conference with the scientist, hashing out the coordinates Loki had supplied.

"It's nothing like the ones before," Tony was saying when Director Fury entered the room. "That included planetary location. We had to _get_ there first. We already know where Earth is."

"So it's narrower," Bruce said. His eyes were looking to the side, at the screen on his own desktop. "We need to figure out what the starting point is and work from there."

"Where's Jane? Fury, get me Foster." Tony turned to Nick. "She's better at local systems."

"Use a video conference."

"We need to get these guys GPS," Tony said. "Except for the universe. UPS? No, that's taken."

"Loki of Asgard," Fury said to the trickster, "why are you not in chains?"

"Longing for olden times, Director?" Loki folded his hands behind his back; Thor watched him fingers twitch from behind and gripped Mjolnir's handle. "How you've longed to imprison me once more. I hope you realize how futile an endeavor that is."

"It has occurred to me," said Fury.

"Then by all means." Loki raised both arms, spreading them wide. "Arrest me."

"Enough, Loki," Thor said. Tony looked up at this statement and watched the trickster as he lowered his arms with a dramatic, fawning huff of air.

"Ah, the peacemaker - how I've missed you, brother."

"Isn't he a sassy pants," Tony drawled. "Get over here Kronos, you're pissing off the guests."

"Insufficient hospitality is a grave offense," Loki said as he approached the inventor. Despite himself, and despite Thor's presence, the movement still resembled the slow approach of a predator. "Tell me, Stark, how are you sleeping?"

"Like kittens," said Tony. He pulled up a full map of Earth on a side monitor, then spun the monitor to face Loki. "What do you see?"

"Land, and water," Loki said.

Tony hit a few buttons; the land and water changed and became alive, some images jumping forth while others sank back.

"And now?"

Loki stepped in close and examined the images. "Mountains," he said after several moments, "and valleys. Even within the water."

"Good job," said Tony, "gold star."

"The coordinates Heimdall gave us are specific not just to a spot, but to an elevation," Bruce said from the video feed. "We've narrowed it down to the elevation so far - that gives us a flat plane at twenty five hundred feet." Tony clicked a few buttons; the majority of the oceans and a portion of the lands vanished.

"You need to other two axes in order to localize your search," Loki said. Tony nodded.

"You see how much of Earth is at twenty five hundred feet?" He reached out and spun the virtual globe with his fingers. "Hello, haystack. Where's my needle?"

"Why can't you just find her?" Clint asked from behind. All of them turned to look at Clint, who watched them back. "Are you stalling?"

"No," Loki said. The word was short and crisp; Thor watched his fingers.

"Then what? You've got magic. Where is she?"

"I do not know," Loki said. Behind him, Thor drew Mjolnir and looked at Barton.

"Why are you here?" Barton asked. Fury had taken a place behind _him_, watching his agent's back with concern. "You expect us to believe you want to help?"

"He is invested in her welfare, Barton," Thor said. Tony and Bruce exchanged a look through the video feed; Bruce sliced a hand under his chin, _keep out of it_. Tony turned back to the conversation in progress. Barton had crossed his arms and was speaking in a quiet, near-monotone voice.

"You had better just remember, Loki. None of that happened this time. But it _could_."

An unspoken threat hung in the air, and Loki tilted his head back.

"You have no spinning disc, Agent Barton. Will you have me call your bluff?"

"Call it whatever you want," Clint said. "Just remember."

"Bringing him along was a great idea, Battlefield," Tony said to Thor. "Just dandy."

"I could not leave him," Thor said. The other men turned to regard him; Loki looked away last.

"See, brother?" he said. "See how well we get along."

* * *

_She has a plan. You should ask._

"Plans are for suckers." Wade was standing at the back corner of the room, prodding the wall with his fingers.

_How's that feel, champ?_

"What the fuck is with this room," he said. "There's no doors. There's no hinges. There's no _cracks_."

_Where'd the soup come from?_

Lynn was several feet away, leaned against the countertop. She had found a felt pen and composition notebook in one drawer, and was busy making a list. "What?" she asked absently, paying him little heed. It drove him wild.

_And not in the good way._

"Pay attention to me. I've found something important. Crucial_._ You should give me a raise."

_She has no money. She doesn't even have shoes._

"She could get shoes," he muttered.

"Shoes," she repeated, and scrawled across the page.

_Hehe. Again._

"Pants," he said.

"Pants," she repeated. The pen moved.

"Hookers," he said. She looked up at him and waited.

"What?" he said. "A man's got needs."

"Duct tape," Lynn said, looking back down at the page. "Lots of duct tape."

"Duct tape is the best." Wade opened his hands and framed her between the thumb and index finger of both. "Duct tape, duct taaape."

_She's not laughing._

"Well I'm not going to sit here and stare at the wall," he said. "It's not _my_ fault she's boring."

"What did you find?" she asked. She had put the pen down across the page of the notebook and was watching him with dulled eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

_Not smart_.

"Oh come on," he said angrily. She raised her eyebrows; she still wasn't laughing. She thought he was talking to her.

_Let her._

"I wasn't talking to you," he said. Lynn pushed herself off of the counter and rolled her head from one side to the other, cracking her neck.

_She's pretty quiet._

"She's ignoring me," Wade said.

"No I'm not," she said. He scoffed. "I'm not. Here, look." She picked up the notebook and walked closer to him. She stopped when she was close enough for him to reach at arm's length, and offered the notebook. He took it and read the list.

"I have no idea what most of this shit is."

"It's supplies I need," she said. She sounded tired. "I can't do anything without them."

_The hell is an autoclave?_

"What's -"

"It's how I can make media. Liquid, to grow the strain on. And sterilize things." She didn't want to explain anything to him, so she kept the information brief. He stared at her.

"It's a giant pressure cooker," she offered.

_Sounds dangerous._

"You think they'll get you one?"

"They'll have to," Lynn said. "I can't work without it."

_Look. She really was listening. _

At the bottom of the list she had written _shoes _and _pants_.

"Huh," he said.

"Tell me what you can do," she said. He scowled through the mask; she ignored it. "I need to know."

_What a lie._

"No you don't."

"Wade," she said, and his name sounded like dried paper from her mouth. "It's important."

_She's been through this before._

"What?" He squinted at her. "You've done this before?"

She took the notebook back and turned away. "Not like this."

_That's a yes._

"I know it's a yes." He felt gratified. "You show me yours."

He thought she would keep hedging until he provoked her into an angry, lashing confession. She stayed quiet for a few seconds.

_Hypocrite._

"What -"

"It was a long time ago," she said. She was adding more items to her list. "For no good reason. I didn't learn anything."

_Except how to take it like a champ._

"No shit," he said. "I haven't seen you cry once."

"It never helps," she said.

_Does the air seem cold?_

"And it doesn't matter anyway," she continued. "It's like it never happened now."

"How's that work?"

"Let's just say I know a guy," Lynn said. She straightened and put the pen down. "I can't think of anything else."

_Something else is going on here._

"What's the list for?"

"I told you. Supplies." She pressed her finger against one item. "This antibody will take a while to ship. It comes from Australia. I _need_ it to do any work." She was looking at him hard, her face firm. He understood in a moment.

_How long can she stall for?_

"I heal freaky fast. _Super_ fast. Like a superhero, but better."

_Not enough_.

"And parts of me stick around."

_Maybe too much_.

She looked interested at that last part.

"Any parts?"

He grabbed his crotch. "All the parts you want, babe."

"Don't call me that," she said. She sounded excited. "Your blood too?"

"Don't go vampire sparkles on me."

"That could work," she was mumbling. "That could solve it."

_That sounds bad._

"I haven't volunteered," Wade said. He didn't like how his voice sounded. "And there's laws against that kind of thing."

"I don't think this guy cares about that," she said. He could see it now, as though it were written across her forehead, scrawled across her cheek in the same obnoxious red color as the highlights in her hair.

_I can use you_, it said. _You are useful._

"Yeah well, I care. In case that matters."

_It never does._

"I know that," he said angrily. Lynn raised her eyebrows.

"I care," she said quietly. She tapped the list. "Any supplies you need?"

_Chimichangas_.

"My soul mate," he mourned. Her sudden laugh surprised him.

_Holy shit. She can laugh?_

"Do that again," he said. Miracle of miracles, she actually smiled.

_It was that voice you used. So pathetic. Chicks dig that._

"You're lightening up," Wade said. He propped himself against a counter and folded his arms. One hand groped at a pocket - empty.

_Of course._

"It comes and goes," she said. "Don't get used to it."

_Wouldn't dream of it._

"Maybe I want to. Maybe I like good company," he said. He was starting to inspect more pockets, checking if they'd missed any.

"Where'd the soup come from?" he asked.

"I didn't see," she said. She looked to the corner, closest to the cot. "It just appeared."

_There's only one bed._

"Flip you for the cot," he said. "Heads you win, tails I lose."

"You can have it." Lynn pulled herself up onto a countertop and sat, her little legs swinging almost a foot above the floor. "I won't sleep much."

_You could wear her out. _

He opened his mouth to say as much, then closed it when he heard the footsteps. Clonking, angry, heavy footsteps. They both turned to the clear barrier and watched Afzal Bakaar and his entourage file in.

"You have something to show me," Afzal said to Lynn. He looked honestly amused.

"I do," she said, and hopped down from the counter. She picked up the notebook - Wade saw her hands shaking before she grabbed it - and approached the barrier. She raised the list and pressed the page flat against the Plexiglas. Afzal scanned the words.

"And stop putting stuff in the food," Lynn said.

"Some of these will take a great amount of time, Miss Creed," Afzal said. Wade tensed behind her; he stayed propped against the counter. His fingers dug into his arms.

"They will," she said. "Some won't. You want me to work, you give me supplies."

"In the meantime, you will do what? Plot your escape?" The amusement was back. Wade dearly wanted to punch the man right in his smug face.

_Stay quiet. _

"I want to punch him," he said. Lynn turned; the men all turned. Wade looked back.

_You said that out loud._

"Shit," he said. "We're best friends. Like brothers."

_Good save._

Lynn's expression disagreed. She turned back to Afzal, who was again looking at the damaged chair.

"I'll work," she said. "I have some ideas to test."

"What ideas?"

_He's smart._

"He doesn't trust her," Wade said. Lynn's shoulders twitched.

"Is it true that, that parts don't rot?" She didn't glance back, she didn't look at him in the reflection.

_Cool as a cucumber._

"That is true," Afzal said. His eyes moved past her to settle on Wade, whose fingers might just dig a hole through his costume.

"She doesn't trust me," he said, as though explaining. "Can't imagine why not."

_He's buying it._

"That's because it's not a lie," he said. Lynn dropped her arms and flipped the notebook around. She turned to an earlier page and pointed at a short statement written there.

"Blood agar. Heard of it? We can't get Ridley, whatever it is, to grow at all - it can only grow in human hosts. If his blood can, can hold up, I can put it in and, and grow the strain, maybe."

_She doesn't like that._

"Maybe she's nice," Wade said. Afzal ignored him; Lynn glanced back at him, once, and turned away.

"You will need to extract blood," Afzal said. She nodded.

_Is that possible?_

"Worth a shot," Wade said. Lynn jumped on the comment.

"He's alright with it. We just need, need a needle and tubing, and vials." She sounded miserable.

"Done," Afzal said. He turned and shot a set of commands to the men behind him; two left.

"You will have your needle in the morning," Afzal said. "Let me see the list again."

"One more thing," Lynn said as she raised the notebook and pressed it against the plastic. "I want my music."

* * *

She was very persuasive. Compared to her other requests, her music player seemed to be a cinch. She'd argued, and demanded, and finally said that if they were going to keep her here for months, the least they could do was make her comfortable.

"It helps me to think," she'd said. That was when Afzal gave in and issued orders in a language neither Lynn or Wade knew. He could've told his men a joke for all they knew. Lynn had taken the high road and thanked him, pretending he had clearly agreed. Now Wade was moving restlessly while she sat cross-legged on the cot, writing thoughts as they occurred to her.

"What the hell good is music, babe? Look, I love me a hot Latin beat same as the next guy, but why?"

Lynn smiled to herself. "They'll have to go get it. Someone told them about me. They'll go into my place." _And then Tony can catch them._

A surge of homesickness. _Don't think about Tony, or any of the rest of them._

"Should've asked for stationary. We could write a letter, address it to Stark Industries. 'Please help,' it'd say. The return address would be a great clue."

"I'll try that next time," she said. She was getting better at appreciating his mouth. At least it was better than silence.

"Could that blood thing really work?"

She looked up from her notebook and met his eyes - close to his eyes. Did he even have eyes?

"Maybe," she said. She didn't want to talk about it, think about it, consider it. _Maybe_. What if it worked? What if she'd found the way? She looked back down at her notebook. Kyle Brogan was standing next to her. Her stomach rumbled. Out of habit, she looked at the congealed soup in longing. _If only it weren't poisoned,_ she thought. She missed home.

"Damn right," Wade was saying. The conversation never ended, with him. He was doing a cartwheel in the center of the room, rolling around the counter and saying _wheee!_ She'd liked him better after she ate the soup.

_Eat it next time,_ she decided. _At least the time goes by faster. _

"Eyes in the sky," Wade was saying. He was waving at the corner where she thought the camera might be; she didn't know for sure. It was shadowed and somewhat concealed. It was as good a place as any.

_Eyes in the sky,_ he'd said. _Eyes in the sky._

"Heimdall!" Lynn jolted from the cot and looked up into the air around her, turning. She cupped her hands; she didn't know how this worked, she'd only seen Thor do it. "Heimdall! Can you see me? Help! Help!"

Wade was watching her. "Oh shit," he said, "she really is crazy."

She had tried not thinking of home; now the thoughts filled her up until her eyes watered. It was so close, so close if only Heimdall could hear her.

"Heimdall, please," she said to the air, and she started to cry. _Dammit, dammit_. She dropped her hands and looked out through the barrier; nothing happened. She pressed her fists to her eyes and willed the tears away.

"Aw, c'mon babe, don't cry," Wade said. He sounded honest. "I'm not such bad company. I do tricks and everything."

"Heimdall," she said, "if you can hear me, if you can see me - send help. Help us."

She heard a small noise, a crackling, a tearing. She looked down toward the bowl of long-abandoned soup and found a new, fresh plate with a sandwich and chips. Wade stepped up beside her and nudged the plate with the toe of his boot; it moved, sandwich and all. It was real.

"What the hell," he said. "Where'd it come from?"

Lynn decided she didn't want to know the answer.

* * *

He had been given a quarters, grudgingly, when Thor requested it - less for his privacy and more for their relief. Loki knew well that Director Fury was not entirely convinced of his newfound cooperation, and felt that suspicious eye watching him even now, as he stood alone in the center of the room. Only the Avengers and Fury himself had been granted access to this room, and he was confined to wandering the corridors with an escort of Thor in tow.

He was pacing again. He had given up trying to stop the habit and instead embraced it. It was at least movement, and that impulse he could forgive. The door to his chambers opened with a loud click; Loki did not look, knowing who had entered.

"What a wretched creature, brother," he said as he passed, eyes on the ground in front of him. "This should not plague me so." When Thor made no calming reply, he halted and turned to face him.

Not Thor at all, but Sif, quietly watching him. The door was shut behind her. Loki smiled immediately and held open his arms.

"Come for a hug?"

"I have come to observe," she said. He dropped his arms with a flourishing sigh.

"Of course, Lady Sif. And what do you see?" She had always been the wisest of Thor's allies, ever unwilling to believe a word the trickster said.

"I am not sure that I believe you would never harm her, as Thor does."

He appreciated Sif for her frankness, and resented her warning. "I should not have come," he said. "It has only agitated me." He let his own warning drop casually - she would know well that Loki was most dangerous when agitated.

Sif ignored the bait and turned, walking to the side in a slow circle. He mirrored her; they circled together, cautious, wary.

"They are curious creatures, these mortals," she said at length. Loki laughed.

"Curious, and simple. You seem to have found a pet, Sif."

"Steve cares for his own," she said. "His loyalty is sure."

"They are noble heroes, all," he said, his voice dripping mockery. The good Captain was the only decent one of the lot, and Sif knew this well. Again, she ignored his bait. Watching, watching.

"What do you want?" he asked. He grew tired of her stares and wanted her to leave.

"Where is she?"

And this simple inquiry, this tiny question full of bitter betrayal and such certainty in his involvement, unleashed his restrained fury in a quivering onslaught of violence.

"I do not know," he cried, "I do not know!" His power lashed out; the room rocked as items smashed against the walls, the doors, the ceiling. Sif had drawn her weapon to defend herself and stood far back, braced for him to attack her. The trickster could no longer see her through his anger.

"Vile brute! I will kill him - I should not have trusted, should not have _expected _-"

"Expected what, Loki?" she asked, guiding his furor. His hatred had circled, circled until he was speaking more to himself than his audience.

"It is _Stark_ who is to blame - he was to keep her safe, and _concealed_, how could he allow this - that machine, he relied too much on the machine, small bits of wiring and prayers offered, circuitry which cannot survive a meager blast of light -"

"I believe you," she said. Loki reared back from his pacing, halted himself and snarled at her. He did not believe her.

"Do not placate me, Lady Sif."

"Do I lie?" she asked. She waited for him to calm down enough that his fingers stopped twitching. He looked her over once, twice, and looked away.

"Can you not find her?" Sif kept her weapon drawn, her knuckles white with tension. She did not have to trust him to believe him.

"No," he said. He tilted his head back to look at the broken lights on the ceiling; outside in the corridor, the sound of footsteps approached. "Director Fury did not appreciate my display."

"It is lucky that I am here to explain, then," Sif said. Loki turned his eyes to her and narrowed them. There was no faith lost between the two; they could only believe in what they saw in each other at the moment, and he was not certain that he appreciated what she saw now.

"I am not Thor," he rasped. "I cannot be subdued by batting eyelashes and heaving bosoms."

"Even a wild raven will come to a feeder," she said. The door behind her clicked; Thor entered first. Behind him, Steve, garbed in practice clothing, pushed into the room. Agent Barton followed, his bow at the ready.

"Everything alright in here?" Steve asked, his intense gaze burning a tunnel through Loki's chest.

"Everything is fine, dear Captain," Loki said, and smiled. "The fair maiden is in no danger from me."

It was Sif's hand on his elbow which convinced Steve to turn away.

"He speaks the truth," she said to the both of them, and all of them heard the wonder in her voice.

"Good enough for me," said Clint. He did not put his bow away.


	8. Passage

_Author's notes: _

_I go into a bit of detail on drawing blood in this chapter. If that kind of thing makes you feel squicky, as it does me, then you might want to skim the second section. _

_Also, please leave a review if you are reading! It helps to inspire me to write sections._

* * *

A force, dark and ill-understood, pressed heavily against his eyelids until the trickster could do nothing more than press index fingers to temples and wait for the presence to leave. He had felt such shadows previously, in a life lived long ago - he could not name them then, and now he finds himself less capable. They were foreign and unwieldy. The vestiges of a heritage he had yet to embrace.

Still, despite his resistance, he felt cold.

He opened his eyes to look at his hands, turning them this way and that. He had frozen metal solid once, rupturing the structure as glass against stone, and knew he could call upon that ability once more should he need to. Of course, only he might survive the cold produced - any mortal would find their skin blackened, charred from the intensity. They would become worthless, their dead skin removed. He could peel that skin himself, if the mortal in question had irked him enough. He could strip flesh from bone with the barest effort, to reveal the healthy tissue beneath. And then he could burrow his hands into the livened flesh and burn it black.

A metal canister provided a convenient, built-in restraint. He wondered if Stark in his alloy suit would feel betrayed or affirmed. He hoped whatever emotions felt became the heady mixture of both which he had come to expect from Thor's Æsir companions. He did not want tears and pleading; he wanted anger. He could feel triumph, if the inventor looked at him in rage or betrayal.

"Loki of Asgard." Nick Fury's voice cracked over the intercom. The trickster tilted his head to acknowledge his summons. "We're sending Thor for you now."

It was always ceremony with dear Director Fury. He could not accept Loki's docility at face value, as well he should not. The trickster was hardly docile, merely conciliatory. He needed these mortals and their electronic tricks, though he took a moment to miss the cold efficiency of Barton alone. Surely if Agent Barton were head of this bulbous organization, they would have at least maintained the dignity of keeping their prisoner in chains.

The door behind him slid open to allow Thor entry, and Loki greeted his brother with a slight sniff of dignity.

"I am surprised that they resort to you as my leash, when the beast is the better choice."

Thor has an odd discontentment which drapes from his form as a sallow outer skin. He looks wary, distrustful. Loki perks up at the realization, and a friendly grin spreads across his face.

"Why brother, who have you brought to meet me?"

"We will all be present," Thor says. It is warning enough. The two Asgardians stand shoulder to shoulder as they walk, Loki following Thor's unspoken directions and subtly adjusting his tread. He is not as familiar with the building, and Thor was always better at outlining an enemy's borders. Loki was more concerned with slipping through them.

The repurposed conference room smelled tangy, the scent of awareness and gun oil. Loki stepped through the doors and found himself greeted with a symphony of suspicious glares and one set of curious, shielded eyes.

"Is this him?" Jane Foster asked as she approached him at a rapid pace. Thor's nod preceded her movement; Loki raised his hand in time to catch her wrist and stop the blow across his face, only to find that her second hand was already in play. He rubbed his jaw, holding her wrist safe in his palm, and he saw the moment she realized that if he chooses to tear her arms from her body, none of them could stop him in time.

He released her with a smile.

"Perhaps the smallest ones are always fiery," he said over his shoulder. "A pleasure to meet you, Jane Foster."

"I'm sure you can guess what that was for," she said. She turned her back on him and returned to the console where numeric figures blinked on the screen, the cursor blinking next to them. A torn, worried notebook sat on the desk in front of the keyboard, and it was this which she continued to abuse before touching the computer.

Thor set a hand on his shoulder; he shrugged it away.

"It has been four full days," Loki said to her back. Stark circled into view and leaned against the table next to her, arms crossed and facing him. Barton watched from the corner while Thor remained behind him, out of sight. "Is it possible that this has become a waste of time?"

Stark grimaced openly, and Loki realized that he was not the only one present who placed the blame at the inventor's feet.

"We've received contact," Director Fury's voice informed him. He sought out the screens to find the Director's face, scowling and suspicious. "They've listed their demands; we're working on tracing the message."

"What are they demanding?" Thor asked from behind him. He stepped forward until he was in line with Loki's vision; the trickster tilted his head.

"Nothing much," Tony said. "Just my happy funding for their crazy psycho terrorist plots."

"I can't follow this scrambling to save my life," Jane said. She tossed her pen down and sighed. "Bruce?"

"Nope," the scientist said from another monitor. "Is Loki there?"

"I am," the trickster said.

"Tony, show him the results."

The inventor slid a stack of papers from underneath Jane's notebook and approached him. Loki took the stack while meeting the man's eyes, and Tony shrugged.

"Part of the stack," he said, and continued walking in a lazy circle. Loki looked down at the numbers, his eyes taking a moment to translate the mortal scratchings, and let Stark have his silent culpability.

"You have determined an axis," the trickster said after several moments of scanning. "You have narrowed down a focal plane."

"Yeah, so now we have 'x' and 'y'. What we're missing is 'z'."

"You presume I will assist?"

Tony laughed quietly. "You will or you won't, but if you don't want to, go back to your hole."

"We could use a fresh set of eyes," Jane said. She was watching him, and glanced to Thor every few seconds. "Any new information can help."

Loki snapped the stack together and offered it to Stark, who ignored it. "I cannot find her without a tether."

"Why didn't she have one in the first place?" Tony asked. He had crossed his arms again, face twisted.

"She would not allow me to replace it," Loki said. Thor stepped forward, a silent barricade between the men. Tony ignored him.

"Since when did you care what she wanted?"

Loki said nothing. It was a valid question, and he acknowledged as much with silence.

"This isn't helping, Tony," Jane said.

"It makes me feel better." Tony rubbed a hand against the center of his chest, then waved it outward. "Call me Ishmael."

"Surely you do not blame yourself," Loki said. The lie flowed as easily as truth. "We are both to blame, I should think."

Tony suspected foul play in the words. He scoffed and turned away rather than engage, and Thor stepped closer to Jane and stroked her hair behind one shoulder. The sign of affection was habitual and lazy, and Jane's beaming face spoke volumes of how well she appreciated his casual touch.

Loki turned away to find Barton watching him rather than the display. "Trouble, Agent Barton?" he asked, in the mood to pick a fight.

"Not so far," the hawk replied. Loki turned back to the stack, opened to a random page, and began scanning once more for clues.

* * *

The hypodermic was present the next morning, as promised. Lynn woke to find it sitting on a tray resting atop a stout cooler. Plastic tubing, sterilizing pads and several clear vials were lined alongside the needle, and Deadpool - _Wade_ - was crouched next to the cooler, poking at its sides.

She stepped closer to the entire offering and stared down at the sharp, uncovered point.

"Aren't they supposed to be capped?" Wade asked. "I don't want any nasty infections." He didn't actually sound concerned, and she doubted that regular infections were something he had to worry about.

"It doesn't matter," she said, and his grunt of assertion confirmed her theory. She had thought Afzal might send someone else to do this, had hoped that they wouldn't think she was capable. She'd never drawn blood; it was always provided.

Her hands were already shaking and she hadn't even touched the supplies yet.

"No plug," Wade was saying. "No generator. Guess it's plain ice."

The cooler was thick Styrofoam. Lynn spoke from far away. "It's dry ice - it'll keep for a while."

"The fuck's it for?"

"Storage." She glanced at the vials. "It'll keep the s-samples fresher."

He looked at her when she stuttered and saw her shaking hands. "Hey, babe - steady hands."

_I've never done this._ "I'll try."

"She'll try, she says," Wade said with a frustrated tone. "Yeah, I can tell." To her, he said, "How many of zero times have you done this?"

She licked her lips. "I'll try to be careful."

"Are you shitting me? Never? _Never?_"

"I'm not a med student," she said distantly. It mattered - it was a particular distinction. She could see it meant nothing to him in the way his shoulders shrugged.

She could also see the moment he realized why she'd done this. His head jerked a bit to the side, listening to the never-ending conversation in his head, and he picked up the hypodermic needle and turned it back and forth to examine all angles.

"Well," he said, "if there was a door…"

"It was worth a shot," Lynn said quietly. A lock pick was useless without a lock.

"I guess it's money shot time." Wade leaned against a counter and rolled up one sleeve. "Little miss never-touched-a-needle. This is going to suck."

He'd taken the needle with him. She stood mute, feeling stupid and hollow. He motioned to her, and she picked up the tray with all of its supplies and carried it to the counter. She set the tray to his left. Her hands were still shaking.

"C'mon, babe - appearances or something. Git'er done."

It only took a moment to figure out where the tube snapped inside, and how to connect it to the first vial. There were ten total; she felt sick, nauseous even. She didn't want to do this.

"Hey," said Wade, "I tell you how I got my crazy awesome powers?"

He picked up the rubber strip and tied it around his bicep, then slapped his arm above the elbow.

"What?" he said to no one. "They always do that in movies."

His veins were thick and raised, easy marks for someone else. Lynn stared and tried not to think about what she was about to do, what she was risking. _What if it works, _she thought. She could barely hear him above her own mental screaming.

She looked away from his arm and tore open the paper cupping a sterilizing pad. She wiped the largest vein she could find; the sharp smell of alcohol made her flinch.

"Anyway, crazy awesome powers of awesome. Wanna hear it?"

He talked while she slid the needle into place against his arm. Would she be able to puncture it? She couldn't have done this to Loki, or Thor. Probably not Bruce either, for different reasons. It could be deadly.

_What if it works?_

"Steady hands, babe. Listen."

He told her of experiments and doctors, cancer and a strange ward full of pain. She slid the needle into his vein on the first try and watched the red fluid flow into the vial. The first one was already half-full.

_What if it works?_

"Don't repeat what I said," he was saying. "People hate that. They might like other versions better."

She popped the first vial off and attached the second. Eight to go.

"Got any other big plans? I thought of brass and sass, but I don't think they'll care. That's me done. I'm all out."

Seven to go.

"I can't think of anything else," Lynn said. She couldn't think of anything except infinite medical possibilities, and those made her feel filthy.

Six to go. He was still talking; she tuned him out. Five, four. She could tell the sting was starting to annoy him. He was rubbing his forearm in rough circles.

"Almost done," she said.

"Sparkles vampire. Do you like that shit? It's pretty bad, but that one evil chick is hot."

Three, two. _What if it works? _One. She finished; she pulled off the vial, capped it, set them all on the tray. She pulled the hypodermic needle from his vein; the hole was already gone. There wasn't even blood. She still wiped the spot with a fresh sterilizing pad, for pretense.

"Piece of cake," he said, and she heard how nervous he felt. She pulled the tray from the counter and walked to the cooler; she opened the top and set the vials against the smoky chips of dry ice. She closed the top. And then she ran to the sink built-in to the end of the lab bench and retched until she saw stars in her eyes.


	9. Pace

Steve stood next to Natasha, watching her fingers fly over the keys of a computer, and clamped down tightly on his envy. He had been working with her for months now to improve his computer skills, something she assured him was worthwhile. He was young enough to pick up on how the computer functioned, and he'd learned quickly that taking his frustration out on a delicate mouse meant replacing it. He'd flown planes in the past; he could handle complicated machines. What made him uncomfortable was the nagging suspicion that this machine, unlike a plane, was smarter than him.

"What are we looking for?" he asked, wanting to feel as though the humans were in charge of this investigation. Natasha turned a brief smile to him and slapped the ENTER key; a series of files opened on the screen, each more complicated than the last, and Steve felt a headache brewing from looking at the glowing square.

"Purchases," she said. "Thefts. Stark hasn't replied to their demands yet. We're hoping there's some supplies they needed right away."

Steve skimmed the topmost file. "University surplus sales?"

"You'd be shocked what they sell at those. We're narrowing the search to cash-only."

"What kind of supplies?" Steve had no idea what went into a lab, much less what Lynn might need to do her work. Natasha offered him a list, which he skimmed. He didn't recognize half of the terms.

"JARVIS is running comparisons for us," she said. "It should be quick."

"What if there's no record of the sale?" Steve asked. Natasha shot him a brief, considering look. This had not been her idea.

"Got it," he said. His fingertips slid across the list, as though touching the words would make them more relatable. "What else are we doing?"

"You'll have to talk to Stark," she said. He felt her keen awareness of the monitoring present in the room and nodded. Now was not the time.

"Alright," he said. He set the list down and tapped her shoulder; she nodded at him and continued typing.

"Stark's in the conference with Jane," Natasha said over her shoulder. Steve left and headed in that direction.

* * *

"I didn't think you ate," Barton said as he stepped in close and set his cafeteria tray down. "Thought that was too pedestrian for you."

"It is not strictly necessary, although I have learned to enjoy some of Midgard's offerings," Loki said. The trickster, of course, had no such tray. He was instead eating an apple, a large bite taken from the side while the trickster poured over the notes gifted to him by Tony and Bruce, held up in one hand. Thor sat across from him, also eating - from a tray, Barton noted to himself. Thor didn't seem to care about how the peasants ate, so long as the food was edible.

"Ho, Barton," Thor said with a friendly smile. He was rolling a long string of spaghetti noodles around his fork; a bit of sauce clung to his beard, just below his mouth, and Barton knew the thunderer couldn't have cared less how he appeared.

In truth, the brothers were a study in opposites: where Loki exuded pathos and a certain amount of distance in all of his interactions, Thor barreled forward into every situation and came out swinging. Clint thought that the two of them must be awful to face in tandem, and said as much. Loki's mouth twisted into an amused smile, though he did not look up from his papers; Thor brimmed at the tangential praise.

"It is true," Thor said, "there is naught we cannot achieve when we band together."

"Truly, the world's delight," Loki drawled. As unsubtle reminders went, Clint could only snort at the comment.

"Found anything useful?" he asked, and took a bite of pre-made baked garlic bread. The trickster laid the papers flat against the table, turned them upside-down, and slid them across to rest in front of Clint's tray.

"You are welcome to look, Agent Barton," the trickster said. His voice wasn't quite a rasp, but his temper was seething. He was tired of being asked that question.

"No offense," Barton said. "Just curious."

Thor reached for the papers and held them in front of his face, scanning the calculations. Clint could see a small smear of spaghetti sauce and grease across the back of the papers from his fingers. Thor considered the numbered lines and creased his brow.

"My brother sees patterns where I cannot," Thor said. Loki reached for the papers with a stricken look.

"You are dirtying them, you great oaf." Loki wiped absently at the stains. "Your Jane sees patterns as well, more easily than most mortals I should say. She is nearly so useful as -"

"Don't say it," Clint said quietly. Both Asgardians looked at him, Thor in confusion and Loki with no emotion at all. "Just don't. It's still sore around here."

"I do wonder why Selvig continues to refuse to come," Loki said. "You would think he would want to ensure his surrogate daughter's safety."

"_Stop it_," Clint said, feeling dangerously close to lunging across the table. Thor had turned back to his food, apparently allowing his brother to fight his own battles now. "I am asking nicely."

"That was not a request, Agent Barton, but a command. Would you care to rephrase your statement?"

"_Please_ stop it, thank you kindly, or I will punch you in the mouth."

"Do you see, brother?" Loki said to Thor. "They can as yet be trained."

"That's enough, Loki," Thor said wearily. "I do not believe you help yourself by making enemies of these mortals."

"This mortal has a name," Clint said. Thor looked to him and nodded.

"Clint," Thor corrected. "You remember it was he who made an effort to reach out to you."

"Yes, misguided though it was. Your spider is quite safe, Agent Barton. I have no interest in promises any longer."

"That's not why I'm here," Clint said, and ate a healthy bite of spaghetti to savor the sudden silence at his statement. Thor seemed warily grateful; Loki only looked suspicious.

"Is that so?" he asked. "Then you must be part of the detail which Director Fury seems so convinced is unspoken. Isn't it just amazing, how anywhere I go a myriad of SHIELD agents is sure to follow."

"Sounds annoying," Clint said. Thor laughed; Loki blinked and tilted his head.

"You will not be baited, will you?" he asked. Clint took another bite of his food and smiled, serene with certainty. Thor's loud guffaw interrupted the other conversations surrounding them, and suddenly the air was filled with deep, baritone mirth. His laughter began with a sort of keening desperation, a release of pent-up tension which culminated into honest laughter after several seconds. Loki watched with annoyance, then some slight warmth, and finally, finally, a small smile.

"You will choke, brother," the trickster said. "Breathe, before I am blamed for your death."

Thor calmed himself, and held his fork out toward Clint. Clint raised his own and clinked the tines, relatively certain that whatever ailments he might have, Thor would be safe from them.

"Well done, Barton," Thor said with a bright, shining smile. "There are few who can resist rising to my brother's bait."

"It is not that he does not rise," Loki said with some consternation. "It is that he ignores his anger."

"Is that not the same?" Thor asked.

"It's not," Barton said. "It pisses him off _way_ more than just not reacting at all."

"A sort of revenge, Barton? I had thought you better evolved." Loki spoke this last while once again perusing the documents, almost desperately casual. Clint didn't miss that the trickster left off the formal title, the part of his name which retained distance. When the archer let the moment come and go, Loki glanced at him over the top of the papers and raised both eyebrows, surprised.

Clint took another bite of his spaghetti and sipped his tea. He plucked the orange on his tray up in two fingers and rolled it across the table. Loki caught the fruit with one palm.

"A fruit you can skin," Clint said. "It helps."

Loki curled one nail against the orange peel and began stripping the fruit of its flesh, and Barton was certain he saw satisfaction in the action.

* * *

Lynn fought against the urge to pace until her thoughts built up to the point of distraction. When she returned to awareness she found herself circling the small room, Wade watching her from the cot. She realized quickly that the battle was already lost, and leaned herself against the bench top. Her leg began jittering moments later.

_God, she's driving me nuts. Tell her to stay the fuck still._

"Language," Wade said. Then, to Lynn: "I need a nickname. Something awesome. Captain Fantastico the Marvelous. You have to call me that now."

"I am not calling you that," she said.

_She doesn't sound angry._

"Progress," he said. "But you need to think of something."

"Why?" Lynn pushed away from the counter and started pacing again. The circles under her eyes gave her face a skeletal quality. She had lost weight already, eating only once a day and sharing the food with him. It had only been two days.

_You should be a gentleman and not make her share._

"I have needs," he said.

_She thinks you're talking to her._

"So do I," she said. "They don't include weird nicknames. Isn't 'Deadpool' weird enough?"

"Don't knock it. That name has history. It's important."

_And she doesn't use it anyway._

"Look," she said, "I'm done. Help me think of a way out of here."

_Do you think it's weird that they don't have mics in here?_

"Gift horse, mouth. Sure, babe. Point me where you want me and fire, I'll kill whoever you want."

"That's not helpful." Lynn was crouching, rummaging through one of the cabinets. She seemed distracted. "What can you survive?"

"Nothing you're thinking of," he said. He didn't like the look in her eyes.

"You don't know that," Lynn said. She was pulling out bottles, setting them on the counter. He didn't like the bright marks on the side, the reds and yellows which meant _danger_. She pulled out a thick glass bottle of chloroform.

_Let's get dangerous._

"I am the wrong number that wakes you at three AM," he said. "Capes are rad."

"Wade, focus," Lynn said. "This is important. It's you we're protecting."

_I am the hair in the lens of your projector._

"She won't appreciate that." Wade stepped closer, eying the various chemicals as though they might leap at him and chew his face. "I know that one," he said, pointing at the chloroform. Lynn rolled her eyes.

"It's not like the movies."

"What, it won't knock me out that fast?"

_Immersion ruined_.

"No, it works fast," she said. "It causes other damage though."

_Which doesn't matter._

"She knows that," he said. His voice had that pitch again.

"I won't hurt you," she said. She pressed her palms against the edge of the counter and leaned, looking over what she had collected. "I won't do that."

"That will make your work more difficult," Afzal said from the side. Both turned; neither had seen him enter. He was alone, and moved quietly.

The change in Lynn's demeanor was dramatic; she was no longer nervous. She straightened her spine, and her expression hardened.

_I think she's angry._

She stalked to the barrier and crossed her arms. Afzal watched her with his hands folded behind his back.

"Let us out," Lynn said.

_Oh shit._

"And what will you do if we don't, Miss Creed?" Afzal asked. He looked like the cat that ate the cream.

"Nothing," she said. Both men looked at her, one in surprise, the other in consideration. "I'm replaceable; it's not worth a fight, is it? You'll kill me and find someone else."

_She wants him to kill her._

"What?" Wade said. "Why would she want that?"

_She has connections._

"Mr. Stark is not so fond of you as we thought," Afzal said. "He has not responded to our requests." He sounded disappointed.

"He never would have," she said. "You don't have a golden ticket here. He'll never pay."

"Stingy bastard," Wade said. Afzal flipped the cover; his finger touched the blue button. Lynn looked like she'd won something.

_She said she wouldn't hurt you._

"Yeah, she did," Wade said.

_Will the next one say the same thing?_

"Now wait a second," Wade said, his voice pitching again. "Wait a damn second. You can't kill her."

"No?" Afzal said. He licked his lips. He had small white teeth.

"No, goddammit," Wade said. Lynn hadn't turned to look at him. "We like her. She's nice. We'll keep her."

Afzal's finger hovered. "The Ridley strain has arrived. It is behind you, inside the cooler."

Wade could see Lynn's shoulders tense, but she still didn't turn around. Afzal smiled at her.

"There is also a cart. Anything you need sterilized, you set on the cart. We will take care of it for you."

"Media needs to be done fast," she said. "Otherwise it gets contaminated."

Afzal nodded. He was watching her alone - he had yet to give Wade more than a second glance.

_Rude._

"Fucking rude, dude," he said. "Eye contact: not just for creepy sociopaths."

_No respectable psychologist uses that word anymore._

"Good thing I don't care." Afzal still hadn't given him more than a cursory glance. Wade picked up the stool next to the bench and threw it at the barrier; it bounced back and clattered to the floor while Lynn skittered to the side to avoid being hurt. Wade raised his arms and shouted.

"Look at me now, bitch!"

"Wade," Lynn said. He flipped her off.

"Can it, babe. This is between me and rat-face." He sucked air through his front teeth - a tiny squeak of air.

_I bet he can't even hear that._

"He hears it alright." Wade raised his fingers in a gun and pointed his index finger at Lynn. "Listen up, dipshit. Little miss here gets my vote. You know what that means? It means I'll kill myself a geek if you get anyone else in here."

Lynn was rubbing her forehead; Afzal managed to crack a scowl. Wade grinned and winked, even though Afzal couldn't see at least one of those gestures.

"Got'im this time, didn't we? That's right, dumbass, welcome to hell."

_Where you're the boss and the railway bulls are blind._

"I call it Poolville," he said.

"Population two," Lynn said. He couldn't help it; he stared.

_Is this progress or scary?_

"Let'er play along." He approached the Plexiglass, and Afzal glared across the clear plastic at the both of them.

_He didn't anticipate a united front._

"Who would? We are the hollow men, our whimper sure sounds like a bang."

_That's not how it goes._

"He knows how it goes," Wade said. He clapped his hands together, then showed both of his open palms to the glass. "You see these? I killed a man with these hands. Did you dipshits do your _research_? I never put my weapons down."

"Wade," Lynn said. "That's enough."

It wasn't enough - he was just getting started.

_You'll take it too far._

"Shit, wouldn't want them to do anything rash." He wished he felt drunk. "I miss beer."

"More than one meal a day," Lynn said.

"Decent pillows," Wade said.

"Blankets."

"Porn." Lynn made a face. "We've discussed my needs."

"I miss music," she said. "Your constant talking just isn't the same."

"You saying I can't sing?" He burst into _Crazy_.

_Like an angel._

"Oh god, stop," Lynn said.

"Enough," said Afzal. "_Enough!_"

"I'm the best radio," Wade said.

"_ENOUGH!_"

"Uh oh, babe, I think we made him mad."

"I don't think so," Lynn said. She had crossed her arms again and resumed her earlier glare. She was enjoying this, and Afzal knew it.

_I think he's taking it personally._

"Whaddaya say, Affy?" Wade offered a pinkie to the barrier. "Swear on it, now."

Afzal had worked himself up to a panting fury. He snarled at them from across the barrier, and Lynn and Wade both laughed in his face.

"You have nothing," Lynn said, and she sounded as drunk as Wade wanted to feel. "You lose."

"Make my strain," Afzal said, "or all of your friends die."

And he left.

_She seems happy._

"Well that was a slap and a tickle," Wade said. "Why did we just get all your friends killed?"

"We didn't." Lynn was practically glowing. "He didn't threaten them until he had nothing left."

"What's that mean?"

Lynn had approached the cooler at the back of the room. She stared down at it.

_Is it a lady's head?_

"What's that mean, babe?"

She crouched, popped the sides, and lifted the lid. She froze when she saw the contents, and let the lid drop immediately. She covered her mouth and shook. Wade approached and reached for the lid; she grabbed his wrist to stop him. It was the first time she'd touched him since he attacked her the day before.

"What's that mean?" he asked again.

"It means Heimdall heard me," she said. She let his wrist go and stood, backed away, and grabbed the counter to steady herself. Wade opened the cooler.

Inside, a set of wet, festering lungs glistened in the fresh air.

* * *

"It's been over a week," Tony was saying when Steve entered. "When do we call it?"

"You were gone for months," Jane said. She was carrying a notebook in both hands, chewing at the end of her pen. Tony looked back at Steve and waved him over.

"This is getting us nowhere fast, Cap," Tony said. "We need another strategy."

"How would you have found you?" Steve asked.

"It would take time, which we have run out of. Do you think she's still alive?"

Steve didn't answer. Tony had history with these people, and he wasn't going to disrespect that by offering bad theories. It was Jane's silent pleading stare which forced him to overcome his reservations.

"I don't know," he said. "It's been seven days and we haven't seen another abduction. It was three days before we got any kind of demands. It seems like they're biding their time."

"Yeah, time is - son of a bitch," Tony said, and his fingers began flying across JARVIS' phantom keys. "Son of a _bitch_. Bruce. Brucey boy! I need some quantum in my physics! JARVIS, get him on the line."

"What are you looking at?" Jane said. Tony grabbed her arm and pulled her closer; she made a small noise of surprise, and paused when she saw what he was doing.

"It's a vector," she muttered. "A _state vector_. Why didn't I see it? Tony, no, change this value here -"

"What does that mean?" Steve asked. He knew Jane was probably lost to the calculations, but Tony was a talker.

"It means we can't find them because they're not _here_," Tony said, his voice rushed in his excitement at solving a puzzle. "The z axis isn't space, it's _time_, that's why Heimdall couldn't pin it down."

"It's moving different from us," Jane said. She pressed her finger to the screen, and JARVIS opened the world map. "The location is set, but the time is sped up or slowed down -"

"That's possible?" Steve felt the information spinning uncontrollably around him, and sat down to keep his head still.

"A time pocket," Bruce's voice suddenly said from the screens. His face wasn't there; he sounded tired, recently woken from sleep. "Jane, can you replicate a pocket universe with this data?"

"Working on it."

"We need the grinch," Tony said to Steve. "Can you bring him? Once we have a target, he can mojo his way there. We'll be in and out before you can say 'God bless America.'"

"How long should it take?" Steve asked.

"Better jiffy it up, Cap. We're halfway home."


	10. Crept

Eight days of unhindered spread had done wonders for the commonality of the unknown infection. There were enough infected within Harlem to officially label the outbreak an epidemic, and the CDC in Atlanta convened its advisory board for suggestions on containment. The spread was unchecked and the mortality rate unbroken. Fear drove policies, and hospitals began screening patients for flu-like symptoms. Inner-city clinics turned clients away the moment coughs were heard, and pregnant women, children and the elderly were encouraged to remain secluded from large crowds.

Elementary and middle schools began closing in New York, biding their time to wait out the deadly disease. There were over two-hundred confirmed cases now, with no cure in sight.

The governor of New York declared a state of emergency which the President immediately approved, and the National Guard was mobilized to begin assisting with hospital negotiations. The less media-friendly commands were given only to the Guardsmen: unofficial quarantine was in effect until further notice, and would be implemented without full disclosure.

In another two days, with confirmed cases now reaching nearly one thousand, the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges were closed. The island of Manhattan was on officially sanctioned quarantine until further notice.

The first confirmed case to appear in Philadelphia sent the media into a frenzy, and the public demanded action. An executive order was issued listing the Ridley Strain as part of the list of diseases for which federal quarantine was authorized, and the Eastern coastline was effectively shut down. The Eastern seaboard of the United States was grounded, from Maine to the tip of Florida, and ports of entry were closed to immigrants.

The total death toll stood at four hundred and thirty three.

The New York Times co-opted the name "Red Death" to ensure their lock on the terms used in history. The rest of the media cycle picked up the name, and by the eleventh day, outlets were saturated with images of the dying and deceased.

They spoke of an elderly grandmother whose family had succumbed within weeks of her own illness, and they spoke of Kyle Brogan, age four. The pictures of his autopsy leaked online. Photoshop competitions sprang up on less compassionate websites, inserting various items inside of the boy's exposed sternum.

The death toll stood at six hundred and two. A relative who had visited New York weeks before became the first declared case in Michigan, and the Great Lakes trade routes were shut down in response. When the first case appeared in France, the European Union declared an international pandemic.

* * *

Lynn had searched through every drawer and cabinet. She had hung the lab coat against the stool; her bare feet padded across the linoleum floor, her hair hanging in increasingly tattered clumps around her head. She wetted her face and hands in the sink and ran her hands over her frizzy strands. The red streaks popped into view every so often, and her heart ached for home. She wished she had a ponytail holder.

She checked a second and third time. On the fourth pass, Wade stopped climbing the walls, seeking out cameras or holes to punch through, and grabbed her shoulders to hold her still.

"Stop," he said. He shook her slightly for emphasis. She shoved his hands away and rubbed her face.

"There's no gloves," she said. "There's no shoes. There's no face masks! I can't work with it like this."

_What if it works?_

"Then make demands, babe." He tapped a knuckle on the Plexiglass. "We've got our list ready."

"They won't give them to me," she said. "I already asked."

"Yeah, it is," Wade said to himself. Then: "Why not?"

"Because that's how they'll make me work," Lynn said. She was staring at the cooler where the lungs waited for her.

"How's that work?" Wade had rolled up the bottom half of his mask and was eating half of a sandwich. Lynn hadn't felt hungry in over a day.

"There's no cure, Wade," she said.

_What if it works?_ She felt sick to her stomach. She rubbed her arm against her nose.

"So...they...I'm sorry, babe, I don't get it." His voice was muffled past bites of lamb and cheese. "Wait, what? No, that's stupid. Then she'd just be sick."

Lynn waited for him to start paying attention to her again. He waved his half-eaten sandwich angrily in the air. "Then she doesn't need to. No, wait. Hey, you. Lynn, yes, you - don't look at me that way, I can see you - don't touch it."

"At all?" She sounded doubtful.

"At all," he said. He walked to the cooler and hefted it with one hand. "Let's chuck this shit down the drain -"

"Don't open it!" She waved both hands under her chin. "It'll be in the air."

"We already opened it, babe."

She said nothing. Her eyes were watery.

"Alright," he said after a long moment, "then we just chuck it into the corner and ignore it, Tell Tale Heart style."

"We can't do that. You set the terms, Wade. If I don't work on it, they'll just kill me anyway."

"Yeah, and then I'll kill anyone else they bring in."

"We need to stall." Lynn was crouching. He set the cooler down next to her; she pressed a hand to the top. "Someone's coming, I _know_ they are. The best way to stall is to -"

"Give them what they want?" Wade couldn't help sounding offended. His voice was doing that pitchy thing again, and he hated it. "That's easy for you to say, babe."

"To look like it, yes."

Her hands were shaking. She popped the side buttons on the container, but left the lid closed. She needed to remove the temptation. She dug under the counters, pulled out the concentrated hydrochloric acid. It was a liter bottle, thick brown glass with a big white label and warning signs. She slid the cooler's lid open, just enough to allow access. She twisted the top of the glass bottle and carefully, slowly, poured the acid inside.

"I thought she said not to open it," Wade said.

"I did," Lynn said. She poured until the entire bottle was empty, then capped it and slid the cooler lid back into place. She stood up and took the handle, gently rocking the cooler to ensure coverage, then took it to the furthest corner of the room and set it down. She crossed her arms, tapped her index finger against her chin. "Now it looks like I've opened it." She stepped to the plate, where half of the sandwich waited, and peeled off the bread. She picked up the meat from inside and walked back to bench top.

"Th'fuck is she doing?" Wade asked behind her. Lynn reached up and pulled down a white glass mortar and pestle. She dropped the lamb inside and began pressing the meat in slow circles with the pestle.

"Get one of the vials," she said quietly. "Set it here to thaw." She patted the counter next to the pestle.

"Get it yourself," he said, and made a face at her back. She shrugged and kept grinding.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" She sounded angry; the glass clinked loudly in the room.

"Don't break it," he said. "I bet it's expensive. Why are you ruining good glassware?"

"I'm working," she said. "Eat the rest of the sandwich."

There was a pause.

"She hasn't eaten since yesterday," he said. "Is it a hunger strike?"

"Do it fast," Lynn said. She had set the pestle down and walked toward the container with his blood. She opened the top and grabbed a vial, wisps of cold gray smoke wafting over the edges. She sealed the container again and walked back to her station, pulling down a conical plastic tube. Wade was eating as commanded, wasting no time with his meal. Lynn rubbed her forearm across the bottom of her nose and sniffed once. She was holding the vial in one hand, her mouth tight with strain, heating up the blood until she could work with it.

"Oh," Wade said suddenly. "Ohhhhh. Is that how it works in a real lab?"

"No," she said as she dumped a small pinch of ground lamb into the tube. "But they don't know that." She tipped the edge of the vial over the tube and poured in half of the blood, covering the ground meat. She sealed the tube and shook it once, then set it aside. The clear plastic was stained from the top to the bottom. She covered the vial again and replaced it with the others.

"That buys us two days," she said. "Your turn."

"Shit," Wade said, "I didn't know it was a competition."

"It is now," Lynn said. She carved two gouges into the cooler with the edge of a small scalpel. "And I'm winning by eleven."

"Aw, c'mon. I get one point, right? I set terms and shit."

"You brought me here. You're ten points down."

"Which gives me what?"

"Negative nine."

"Aw, nerts."

"Better start catching up," she said. "Soon you won't have any way to win."

* * *

Loki stepped in a frenzy of activity. Jane Foster was scribbling furiously into her much-abused notebook. Tony's hands flew over the invisible keys of the computer system. On the screen, multiple equations and simulations flashed by at dizzying speed.

Behind him, Barton made a small noise of frustration. He heard the agent murmur in Thor's direction, and Thor's sudden bark of laughter made his shoulders tense.

"Sharing a secret joke, Barton?" Loki turned and stared down at the shorter man, who shrugged.

"More like an experience," Barton said. "I don't think you know what it's like to be totally lost by...this." He waved a hand at the screens, and Thor clapped Loki's shoulder.

"Come, brother, and decipher these strange mortal runes," the thunderer said. Loki was turned and led toward Jane, who had looked up and even managed a smile in their direction.

"I believe dear Jane has already translated," Loki said when they were close enough for her to easily hear. She perked up and walked over to them, pointing at the strange scribbles she called notes. Loki thought it a miracle that she could read them herself, much less other observers.

"It's a time pocket. Do you know?..."

"I am familiar with the concept," he said, his eyes scanning over her notes. He was teaching himself as he spoke; she did not need to know that. In a moment, he continued: "I have created similar phenomena."

"You - what? You can _create_ - nevermind." A sharp look at Thor, who looked chagrined. Jane tapped her notebook with the chewed end of a pen. "That's good. Can you maybe tell where one is?"

"There are patterns," he hedged. Loki wasn't entirely certain that human science and his own magic could be interchanged, but again, there was no reason for her to know that.

"Then suit up," Stark said from the side. He pressed a palm against the table and flipped the hovering projection toward Loki, who peered at the images. A specific location appeared in the mountainous regions of a Midgardian territory; two axes intersected, a giant X which hovered in the air.

"Where is the third axis?" he asked. He reached forward and brushed his hands through the 3D image; the electric currents flickered into him, and the image vanished until he drew his fingers away.

"What the hell?" Tony asked. The image popped back into view. "Ok, look, stop doing weird things for now - we don't have time for tests. The last axis isn't space, it's time."

And the pieces fell into place. Loki drew back, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"Ævi forn," he murmured.

"What?" asked Tony.

"A phenomenon," the trickster said. "Sometimes called ævi forn by our elders." He saw the bright interest in both Tony and Jane's faces; the screens behind them had ceased their calculations, a sure sign of Banner's attention.

"A pocket," Loki said. "Of time, as you think. They are untraceable; therefore we must have a direct coordinate before we go haring off into unfamiliar territory."

"We've got a ballpark," Tony said. Loki looked at the intersecting lines hovering in front of them and nodded.

"This will do."

"And you'll what?" Tony asked. "Walk around and sniff for magic?"

"Magic has no scent," Loki said while Barton insisted, "He's not going alone."

"Thunderpants can tag along, sure."

"And me," Barton said. They all looked at him; Tony and Thor nodded while Loki simmered.

"I do not need assistance," he ground out through a clenched jaw.

"I went in last time, I'll be there this time too," Barton said.

"We all will," Steve said from the doorway.

At Thor's pleading look, Loki chose to keep his comments to himself.

* * *

"Teach me how to fight," Lynn said on the third day. She was sitting cross-legged on the cot, watching him do push-ups. He was doing the kind that involved pushing up hard, clapping twice, and coming back down on both palms. It was very impressive.

_It's not that impressive._

"She's asking for pointers, ain't she?" Wade folded his knees in and pushed up to his feet. He rolled the bottom of his mask up and took a healthy swig of the water from the sink. It tasted like metal and rust.

_Gross._

"Where's Brita when you need it," he said. He shook his hand; water clung to the suit and he grumbled.

_It'll dry._

"Shut it," he said. He turned and offered a hand to Lynn, who had been watching in silence. She hadn't slept since day one, that he could remember, and she seemed to think eating was optional.

_Maybe if you let her eat any at all._

"I don't _take _it, she just doesn't _eat_ it. Good food shouldn't go to waste."

"My stomach hurts," she said absently. She knew he wasn't talking to her, but she replied anyway when she felt there was something important to say.

_She looks pretty bad. What are the symptoms again?_

"Fuck if I know," he said. "You seemed pretty game, babe. What skills you lacking?"

"I don't have skills," she said. She was swaying on her feet; they both ignored it. "Assume that, anyway. Nat would kill me."

_Who's Nat?_

"Alright, basics. Hit me."

She stared at him.

"Come on, hit me. The sexual tension is killing me. But not the ear again. _Never_ the ear again."

She swung, aiming for the ear, of course. He caught her wrist and twisted, pulling her around and flush to his body while twisting her arm around and up, behind her back. She rammed her free elbow back into his torso and he let out an ungraceful _hurk_.

_She'll go for the groin next._

"She can't reach -"

A hand grabbed his crotch and twisted; he yowled and let her go, falling to his knees.

_She's pretty short._

"Augh! Geez, babe!" He glared at her; even on his knees, he barely had to look up at her.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She rubbed a hand against her sternum and flinched. They both ignored it. "Maybe I know some things."

_Just a few._

"You can use a gun, too."

"Nat taught me," she said. "Tony made it." Lynn's eyes were unfocused, her pupils blown.

_She's about to say something really embarrassing._

"I want to go home," she said. Her voice was small and pained, her eyes watery.

"Ah, shit. Hey, look -"

"I sent him away," Lynn said. "I sent him away."

_Who?_

"God, who cares. Babe, hey, look. Look here." Wade raised the first three fingers of his right hand until she focused on them. He dropped two and she snorted.

"Mature," she said.

_At least she's not crying. _

"Can't stand that shit," he said. "Alright, moves. I got the moves. I got _all _the moves. You like disco?"

"I hate disco."

_Everyone hates disco._

"Chicks dig disco," he said. He heard two snorts of disbelief, and only one came from her. She coughed three times, a sharp, rasping sound, and wiped the back of her hand against her mouth; the spittle came away in a haze of red. They both ignored it.

_This is bad_.

"Put your foot like this - yeah, just like that. Shit, you already know this. Why do I bother?"

_Because you're bored too._

"How about a backflip," she said.

_That's ridiculous._

"What?"

"I've never been able to do one," she said. "I want to try."

"Let me tell you how many ways that's a bad idea," Wade said. "First -"

_Is that a gun?_

"It can't be."

_It could be a gun._

"Was that a gun?" Lynn asked. She had turned and was staring into the adjacent room, eyes wide. She stepped close to the plastic and pressed a hand to the barrier. "Was it?"

_I guess it was._

"It might've been," Wade said. He was standing further back. "You should clear out of there."

"It's fine," she said. "Bullets can't get through."

_How does she know that?_

The door across the way slammed open; Afzal entered, followed by three of his men. Two were wearing thick scarves around their faces; the third had his head bared, and was watching Afzal closely from behind. The sound of gunfire and shouting, even several explosions, echoed in the hallway behind them.

_What the hell?_

Lynn looked superior. She was staring at Afzal with a smug combination of triumph and relief.

_She knew this was coming._

"Nobody tells me anything." Wade stepped forward and took her shoulder, pulling her back. He knew that look on Afzal's face, and glanced at the blue button.

"You lose," Lynn said from behind him. Afzal's face twisted into an angry grimace. Lynn started laughing, quiet and low.

_She's crazier than us._

"Not by much," Wade said. "Babe, now is the worst time." She didn't hear him.

"You lose, asshole," she said.

_It sounds like she's talking to someone else._

"Babe -"

"My name is Lynn Creed," she screamed, "_and you get nothing from me."_

Afzal had flipped the plastic cover up while she spoke, his finger hovering above the blue button. Lynn stared him down, stared until the man could only follow through or walk away. Explosions rattled in the background; debris fell through the door to rattle and twist against the ground. The chunks were getting larger. She could hear roaring in the distance, and the telltale sounds of thunder.

Afzal turned to his men and shouted at them in his native language, pointing angrily. He turned back to the glass, and Wade saw what was coming a moment too late.

_Shit._

"Wait a goddamned -"

Afzal turned and left; the two scarved men left. The bare-faced man stepped forward, pressed the button. He didn't even look at them as he did it. He left.

Wade beat the Plexiglass and cursed at their departing figures, shouting until he was certain they were too far to hear him.

"Babe, this is bad," he said.

"I dare say," an accented voice said from beyond the door.

_Hey, it's that guy again._

"Do I know him?" Wade asked, confused.

_You really should. He gets all the ratings._

The voice's owner stepped into view, and Wade was absolutely certain he had no idea who this guy was.

* * *

It had taken nearly four more days to navigate the mathematical reality of a time pocket. The three scientists had collectively developed and implemented equations never before seen, and it was Jane who first realized the impossibility of their original model.

"We can't ground it in our plane," she'd said in frustrated understanding. "It's either moving faster or slower. We need to try both."

The leaps of logic were dizzying, and Thor had given in to join Barton, Sif and the good Captain in strategizing away from the intellectual discussion. Loki remained and tempered their mortal musings with magical necessities. While the time pocket might be grounded within their perception, it would not be limited to their reality.

When Bruce made the final connection, the necessary leap into new insight, all of them had paused in momentary respect for a sudden gain of previously undiscovered knowledge. Jane had sat with glistening eyes, moved to tears at their collective enlightenment. Stark had taken the calculations one step further, discovering a way to triangulate a location in all spaces, a way to narrow down the field of focus to one reality regardless of how many steps removed it might be.

Loki had been impatient to be on their way.

They insisted on accompanying him, and he could not blame them. He had anticipated their demands and resigned himself to inevitability, using his time away from the work to focus on his own seiðr. He was not limited any longer - or rather he did not bother to hide the extent of his power - but he still hesitated in the face of revealing abilities to SHIELD by proxy. It was Thor who convinced him with the simple truth that the Avengers already knew, and still SHIELD was ignorant. If they had meant to tell, surely they would have already.

Loki could hardly argue this point.

The mission involved the entire team save Barton's widow, replaced by dear Lady Sif. Loki had suggested he go alone first, to be certain of their arrival; his suggestions were ignored by his brother and gently chided by the Captain. He might have thought they did not trust him, if Sif had not pulled him aside and told him of Steve's troubles with concern. He saw that same concern in her eyes, as well as Barton's and Stark's. When Banner arrived, their greeting was stunted by the man's own quiet apprehension, and Loki had to admit that they did not want to come because of some misguided attempt to control him. No, they were coming because Lynn Creed was their friend, and they wanted to be present to ensure her safety.

Their anxiety was both comforting and ill-fitting, and he would be happy to be rid of their overwrought emotions once this was resolved.

They took him to a private location, away from SHIELD's prying eyes. He had expressed surprise at their caution, to which Barton replied, "What, you want them to know?" The point was made and he moved on, but he would not soon forget that Thor's assurances in regards to his secrecy were proven correct. He was not comfortable knowing that his brother had become so wise, and ignored the revelation to focus on the need for powerful seiðr. The time to ponder Thor's various changes would come later.

He drew upon Yggdrasil's children, weaving a great bough to his whims and twisting the flowing energy through his form. He took them all in a wide net and pulled them across both time and space, his own associations building as they spun through the in-between to crash upon the present - only now the present was the future, and today was the past.

They all struggled with disorientation save Thor, who seemed invigorated by the transition. He beamed at Loki and clapped his back, and they were both reminded of different days. Neither better nor worse, merely different.

Loki pushed his brother's hand from his shoulder, and the siege began.

He had seen all of them fighting before and was familiar with their methods. Without incentive to stay and observe, and with a mission already in play, he slipped beneath their mutual sights and began his search. He knew how to remove the pocket from its reality; he had dropped them near enough to find it quickly, and the spell was ready within his fingertips. A simple incantation to remove the forces which held the pocket outside of the normal progression of time and remove any barriers therein. In minutes he found the container, and stepped inside to look across a clear barrier and find the intended target.

Loki felt triumphant, and as he shimmered into sight he let his gloating show. Lynn stood across from him, the barrier between them. He wanted to laugh at her, to crow his successes. He settled for pride.

"I presume you will apologize, once I have freed you."

She looked beyond exhausted - the circles under her eyes were deep hollows, dark and bruised.

"Sure," she said. Her voice was grating and raw; she was unwell. He felt his worries rise, and nodded. He raised his hands, smiling wide, and waved them together. One over the other, one circle, two, a third - the forces containing the pocket shimmered and fell, taking the clear barrier with it. He reached forward to offer a hand and help her over the cleared pathway -

His fingers hit the barrier. She looked down where they hit, back up to his face. His pride fell away to confusion first, anger second. He balled a fist and slammed it against the barrier. The wall's force held firm - he had failed.

"What," he said. Thor stepped forward - of course Thor was here - and took his shoulder, pulling Loki back a step. He hefted Mjolnir, braced and swung to strike the shield, a stupid mortal wall which should collapse at the smallest tap from Mjolnir. Thor staggered back - the barrier held.

Lynn watched them with dulled, sad eyes, and Loki could not stand her defeat.

"Now just a second," her kidnapper said. Loki turned to the man who he hadn't bothered to acknowledge before. "I thought he had all the mojo in the universe or whatever. How is this not working?" He was speaking directly at Loki now, accusatory and fierce. "How are you failing at this? Isn't this your _thing?_"

Lynn was looking down, closed off from all of them. Loki started forward - Thor held him back. He snarled until he saw the green beast ready a fist beside them.

"All together," Thor said, and readied his hammer. Loki raised his hands and prepared the spell; Banner reared back and struck. The spell, Mjolnir and the Hulk's mighty fist met simultaneously, an explosion of force which sent them all reeling away.

When his head cleared again, the barrier held - and Lynn stood in the same place, unmoved and unshaken. Her kidnapper lowered his hands from covering his head in anticipation.

"_No_," Loki said. It was the only word he had left, the only word which made sense of this sight. How could this be? _How could it hold?_

"Shit," said her kidnapper, "shit shit _shit shit._ Lynn, darlin', get down, get on the floor. Away from the gas. _Shit._ Get down, get down!"

She stayed standing, watching Loki with those sad, defeated eyes. When she spoke, they all strained to hear her.

"You need to leave now," she said.

"No," Loki said. Behind him, he felt the others melt away, save Thor. Noble, caring Thor, who stood witness to his brother's pain because of some misguided love. He found his voice through Thor's strength. "_No._ There is a way; I will find it."

"Now is not the time for romantic sappy bullshit!" her kidnapper yelled. "They poisoned the goddamned air! Lynn, get the fuck down! _Get down!_"

"There's no point," she said, to all of them. "I'm sick. I know you can see it." This to Loki, who shook his head in denial.

"There's no cure," Lynn said. Thor's hand on his shoulder; he shoved it away. "This is better."

Her kidnapper, the one called Wade, grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down, forcing her to sit on the floor. He was straining to breathe; he was taller than her by over two heads, and when he sat next to her his breaths came hard.

"Lie down, babe," he said through his own gasping. "Lie down and cover your head."

Lynn stared up at Loki, who felt the pang of an unmerciful god standing above the destruction of his own creation, unable to stop the path set so long ago. But this was not destruction he had chosen. It was not mercy which clenched his heart, no - nor was it anger any longer. He might have called it fear, but he was too focused on her face, her small, open face and her dark wet eyes. She blinked slowly and breathed deep, and she coughed harshly of a sudden. The invisible killer had descended; her kidnapper was grasping his own throat, trying to force her down to the ground.

"You don't need to watch this," she said to him, and slid down, down to the ground. Her arms were splayed, her fingers twitched; she panted and stared straight ahead at the ceiling.

Loki felt keening building in his throat. He could not stand to see himself fail so completely.

"Amma Lynn, Amma Lynn," Loki said, and crouched at her level. He pressed a hand to the barrier that still stood between them, his face blank and composed. Inside he roiled, he shouted, he roared and tore the stone from the very face of the mountain. This calm, this placid lake of serenity was for her alone.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said, blinking at the ceiling.

"Yes, if you look to me."

She turned her head enough, twisted her eyes and met him head-on. Her kidnapper had stilled, having taken too much in too soon; her eyes were glazing as darkness fell.

"What did it smell like?" she asked. Loki's mouth twitched; he nearly cracked, save for her expectant stare, her hopeful belief.

"Sulfur," he said, "and heat. It was most unpleasant. Midgard is far more appealing now than ever before."

She inhaled and gasped; her eyelids fluttered. She could not see him any longer, and still she stared.

"Lie for me," she whispered as panicked tears streamed down her face. "Tell Tony I was brave."

"Amma Lynn, you could never stand to have someone speak for you. I will open my mouth and you will yell in anger, insisting that I not say a word in your place. You will tell him yourself. Won't you? Amma Lynn, speak to me - Amma Lynn, can you hear me?"

His palm curled into a fist; her eyes were open and staring, staring at the nothing ahead of her. Her chest was no longer rising. He clenched his jaw.

"Amma Lynn," he said. Thor's hand touched his shoulder; Loki dared not move. "Amma _Lynn_."

"Loki," Thor said. He made neither demands nor concessions; he merely stated the trickster's name, a quiet, sad pairing of syllables. A vocal admission that the battle was already lost. Loki turned wide eyes to the thunderer, his emotions laid bare and unencumbered. He could not focus; he could not _see_. He stared at the golden prince of Asgard and felt his soul, that shriveled essence so long unused, splay itself to the thunderer's mercy.

"Brother," he said, his voice cracking with the onslaught of defeat, "what have I done?"


End file.
